SPACE-A6E MAGAZINE
Starillnq N«w Myilsry
A LITTLE
INTELLIGENCE
Startling New Mystery
by ROBERT RANDALL
....
PUZZLE: FIND AL
Al’s got himself lost in his job.
He does his work. He draws his pay.
He gripes, and hopes, and waits. But
the big breaks never seem to come.
You have to hunt hard for Al. He’s
in a rut 1
Tiien, who’s the figure standing out
in the picture? That’s Tom. Tom grew
tired of waiting. He de<'ided to aci. He
took three important steps:
I. Wrote to I.C.S. for their three fa-
mou.s care*'' boc*ks.
3 . F.»'roHed few an I.C.S. job-related
course.
3 . Started to apply-on the spot-what
he was learning.
The others began to say, "Ask Tom, he
knows.” The superv isor began to take
notice. The boss began to receive rf
ports on Tom’s progress. Attd Tom began
to move!
It’s a fact worth remembering: An
I.C.S. student always stands outl
P.S. — You’ll find men like Al everywhere
—griping, hoping, wailing— reading this
and skipping on. But forward-looking
fellows like Tom will take time to inves-
tigate, will mark and mail the coupon
and get the three valuable career books
free. They’re men of action. And a few
short months from now, you’ll see tl*em
start to move !
For Real Job Security — Get an 1. C. S. Diploma! I. Scranton 15, Penna.
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AUTOMOTIVE
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SCRANTON IS. PENNA
WMd mt * HOW to SUCCECir and 9m
AVIATION
O A*r«.Eri|inM>inc TacA n otofy
□ Aircraft A E*a>n« Machoivit
BUSINESS
g Aceoontini
Ad**rtHin|
O Sninot* AdmtoiatraliM
O BoiinoM Manaitr tia na
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O Craativa SatasataMhip
Q Monatmi a SmaM BMinaw
□ Nglasaional Socittorjr
Q PvMk AccoonlMi
□ PiirchaaiNC Afaat
O Salttmanahip
* □ Sato$mtft»hia and
Manatamont
O TraAc ManattaaoM
CH EMICAL
S AnolyiKal Chomntry
Otamicat Ent»a a ani>t
O CAtni. laB. TacKna**
O Ctoaionts «f Hoclaar Cnariy
□ Ctnaral CAomiatty
O Nataral Sat Nod aaWTia**.
□ Patfotooia Nod. and Cn*i
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O Cood CattwA
O Mitli Sdtool Matoamoticd
G Short Story Writint
CIVIL
ENCINECAING
O Civd Entmoorinf
O Conatractioa Eat m aortm
O H^hwar E fi oaari ii t
DAArriNG
O Aiftratl Drattint
O ArchitaOwrat OtaAiot
O Draftmt Machmo DotifW
O Elactiical Orafta^
G MackaMcaJ IMaAmt
G Shaat kMal DraHmt
O Str«Kt«ral Dratlirtf
ELECT AlCAL
D Elatiricat EniinaofMt
O Elac Enc*. Tachrucata
O Elac lipil and Foaraa
O PrKtKal EiaetiicaN
O NactKal liaaana
O Nefanionat Cntmodf fflac)
O Sooorvnian
MECHANICAL
and SHOP
O Oiaaol Cn|«noa
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g lAdMtral EAfi'iaartod
IndMiriat InattamantaltoW
O Indoftriat Matallurty
O IrtdMtrial Sataty
O Mackma Ottifn
O Machirt* Shop PracHco
O NacItan Ka t Ew i moariat
O NefMSionai Enitnoor (MocAl
B Qoahtr Control
BMdmt Shop WMorints
O Rotritoratwn and
Air CMditiOKMit
OXoolOatitn GTaolMtkMc
AAOIO. TELEVISION
o Cwtarol Ci ac a oiiica Toeh.
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C Nacireai Radw-TV EnfVt
□ PrKlKtl Talaphony
G Roda-TV SorvKinc
AAILAOAO
O Car lf>toacter and An BraAo
O Otaaal EtocUKian
□ OiOMl Entr and firawan
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STEAM and
DIESEL POWER
O CombMlioa Entrnaormc
O Poarar Nant Enfmaat
O Stalwnary Diaaal Enti.
□ Stationary ftraMon
TEXTILE
O Cardinc and .Sprnntai
O Cotton Manolactoro
Q Cotton Warpme and W
C Loom Fifitvt TaclwHcian
□ Taitilo DasicniAt
□ Taitrta FmitAmf S PyainR
□ Throwme
□ Warpmc and Waovinc
O to er atad Mamdactormt
on to totornattonat CowaaRindinei Schoola. C anaPan. lad .
. . Spocot toRion lalot to mamba rt of toa U. S. Aimod forcaa.
nTrTTTTl
SCIENCi FICTION
• FEATURE SPACE-AGE NOVELET
A LITTLE INI'ELLIGENCE Eohert Randall 6
T l it^ iimrdpp of - a n - ali e n - envoy -amd- the kiIHns_pf 4 cat the two
events fitted together, but why kill a cat? But the riddle had to.be
solved, or peace between Earthman and Pogatha was out.
• NOVELET OF WORLDS TO COME
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT Russ Winterhotham 51
The "Instrument” which showed the invaders both how to conquer
and 'rule human beings also predicted Gerd Thane. Bfit could even
so perfect a machine consider every possible contingency?
• SHORT STORIES
FUELING STOP (illustrated on cover) Calvin M. Knox 39
Otherworld beings can be both dangerous and cute-and-friendly !
THE LAST PARADOX Edward D. Hoch 110
Was this a solution to the seeming paradox of time-travel?
BOY Richard Wilson 113
Here’s one eventuality the Founding Fathers couldn’t anticipate!
• SPECIAL FEATURES
DO YOU KNOW YOUR SCIENTIFIC EXPERTS?
Joseph C. Stacey 48
IT'S ALL HOW YOU LOOK AT IT Issac Asimov 50
Sing it to the tune of “The Flowers That Bloom in the Spring”!
• DEPARTMENTS
THE RECKONING (Your report on the June issue) 99
THE EDITOR’S PAGE Robert A. W. Lowndes 100
Continuing the survey of "Yesterday’s World of Tomorrow: 1928.”
SCIENCE FICTION ALMANAC 117
DOWN TO EARTH (Your letters and Our comment) 119
READERS’ PREFERENCE COUPON (double-barreled) .... 129/130
No. 39
October,
1958
35 ^
Editor: ROBERT A. W. LOWNDES DOROTHY B. SEADOR, Asso. Ed.
COVER BY EMSH Illustrations by Emsh, Freas, Orban * Luton
FUTUIIK SCtE.NCE FICTION, Number 39. October. 1958. Published every other month
by COLUMBIA PUBLICATIONS, INC., 1 Appleton .Street. Holyoke, Mass. Editorial
and executive offices at 241 Church Street. New York 13, New York. Second-
class mall privileges authorized at Holyoke, Mass. Single copies 35c; yearly sub-
scription 82.10. Entire contents oopyright 1958 by Columbia Publications, Inc.
Printed In U. S. A.
4
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I A
;| LITTLE
INTELLIGENCE
illustrated
by FREAS
Feature Novelet
by Robert Randall
The age demanded diplomacy, co-op-
eration, and high-level understand-
ing if undesired war between Man
and Pogatha were not to continue.
So the alien envoys had to be han-
dled with care — and not permitted
to get an insight into Earth’s tech-
nology. Well, they wouldn’t find
any military technology in a cathe-
dral! But someone found Vor Nol-
lig, the blue Pogath, dead — and
there was murder to deal with. And
to Sister Mary Magdalene, the si-
multaneous killing of a cat was a
crucial clue. .
S ister mary Mag-
dalene felt apprehen-
sive. She glanced worried-
ly at the priest facing her, and
6
The aliens shot another puzzled glance at the cat, as Father Destry
led them areuad...
7
8
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
said, “But — I don’t under-
stand. Why quarter the aliens
here?”
Her gesture took in her of-
fice, the monastery, the con-
vent, the school, the Cathedral
of the Blessed Sacrament.
“Because,” said Father Destry
patronizingly, “there is noth-
ing here for them to learn.”
The nun eyed Father Des-
try uneasily. The single votive
candle flickering before the
statue of the Virgin in the
wall-niche beside him cast odd
shadows over his craggy, un-
handsome face. She said,
“You mean that the beings of
Capella IX are so well versed
in the teachings of the Church
that they couldn’t even learn
anything here?” She added
with innocent sarcasm, “My,
how wonderful for them!”
“Not quite. Sister. The
Earth Government isn’t wor-
ried about the chances of the
Pogatha learning anything
about the Church. But the
Pogatha would be hard put to
learn anything about Terres-
trial science in a Cathedral.”
“The walls are full of gad-
gets,” she said, keeping her
voice flat. “Vestment color
controls, sound suppressor
fields for the confessionals,
illuminations. . . ”
“I know, I know,” the
priest interrupted testily. “I’m
talking specifically about mil-
itary information. And I don’t
expect them to tear down our
walls to learn the secrets of
the vestment color controls.”
CISTER MARY MAGDA-
'^LENE shrugged. She had
been deliberately baiting Fa-
ther Destry, and she ' realized
she was taking out on him her
resentment against the govern-
ment for having dumped a del-
egation of alien beings into her
otherwise peaceful life.
“I see,” she said. “While
the — Pogatha? — Pogatha
delegation is here, they’re to
be kept within the cathedral
grounds. The Earth Govern-
ment is assuming they’ll be
safe here.”
“Not only that, but the Po-
gatha themselves will feel safer
here. They know that Terres-
trial feelings still run high
since the war, and they know
there could be no violence
here. The Government wanted
to keep them in a big hotel
somewher e — a place that
would be as secure as any.
A LIHLE INTELLIGENCE
But the Pogatha would have
none of it.”
“And one last question, Fa-
ther. Why does it fall to the
Sisters of the Holy Nativity to
put them up? Why can’t the
Holy Cross Fathers take care
of them? I mean — really, I
understand that they’re alien
beings, but they are hu-
manoid ...”
“Quite so. They are fe-
males.”
The nun’s eyebrows rose.
“They are?”
pATHER DESTRY blushed
faintly. “I won’t go into the
biology' of Capella IX, partly
because I don’t completely un-
derstand it myself. But they
do have a matriarchal society.
They are oviparous mammals,
but the rearing of children is
always left to the males — the
physically weaker sex; The
fighters and diplomats are def-
initely female.”
“In that case” — the nun
shrugged in defeat — “if those
are the Bishop’s wishes. I’ll
see that they’re carried out.
I’ll make the necessary ar-
rangements.” She glanced at
her wristwatch and said curtly,
9
“It’s almost time for Vespers,
Father.”
The priest rose. “The Gov-
ernment is preparing a bro-
chure on the — ah — physical
needs of the Pogatha. I’ll have
it sent to you as soon as it ar-
rives.”
“Care and Feeding of Ali-
ens, eh? Very well. Father.
I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure you will. Sister.”
He looked down at his hands,
as though suddenly unsure of
himself. “I know this may be
a hard job. Sister, but ...” He
looked up, smiling suddenly,
“...you’ll make it. The pray-
ers of everyone here will be
with you.”
“Thank you. Father.”
The priest turned and
walked out. Sister Mary Mag-
dalene, unhappily conscious
that though she respected Fa-
ther Destry’s learning and pi-
ety she could feel no warmth
toward him as a person,
watched him depart. As he
reached the door a lithe coal-
black shape padded over to
him and rubbed itself linger-
ingly against the priest’s legs.
Father Destry smiled at the
cat, but it was a hollow, arti-
ficial smile. The priest did not
10
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
enjoy the affections of Sister
Mary Magdalene’s pet. He
closed the office door.
The cat leaped to the top of
the nun’s desk.
“Miaou,” it said calmly.
“Exactly, Felicity,” said
Sister Mary Magdalene.
eiSTER MARY MAGDA-
*^LENE spent the next two
days reading the digests of the
war news. She had not, she
was forced to admit, kept up
with the war as much as she
might have. Granted, a nun
was supposed to have re-
nounced the Devil, the Flesh,
and the World — but it was
sometimes a good idea to check
on what all three were up to.
When the Government bro-
chure came, she studied it
carefully, trying to get a com-
plete picture of the alien race
that Earth was fighting. If
she was going to have to cod-
dle them, she was going to
have to know them.
The beginning of the war
was shrouded in mystery.
Earth forces had landed on
Capella IX thirty years be-
fore; they had found a civili-
zation two centuries behind
that of Earth, technologically
speaking. During the next
twenty years, the Pogatha had
managed to beg, borrow, and
steal enough technology from
the Earth colonies to almost
catch up. .\nd then someone
had blundered.
There had been an “inci-
dent” — and a shooting war
had begun. The Pogatha feel-
ing, late in arising, was, that
Earthmen had no right settling
on Capella IX; they were ali-
ens who must be driven off.
The colonists refused to aban-
don twenty years’ effort with-
out a fight.
TT W\S A queer war. The
colonists, badly o u t n u m-
bered, had the advantage of
technological superiority. On
the other hand, they were
hindered by the necessity of
maintaining a supply-line 42
light-years long, which tlie
Pogatha could and did dis-
rupt. The colonists were still
dependent on Earth for war
material and certain supplies.
The war had waggled back
and forth for nearly ten years,
without any definite advantage
to either side. Thermonuclear
weapons had not been em-
ployed, since they would leave
A LIHLE INTELLIGENCE
II
only a shattered planet of no
use to anyone.
Both sides were weary; both
sides wanted to quit, if it
could be done without either
side losing too much face. Hu-
man beings had an advantage
in that Earth, itself, was still
whole; but the Pogatha had
an almost equal advantage in
the length of the colonists’
supply lines. Earth would win
eventually; that seemed obvi-
ous. But at what cost? In the
end. Earth would be forced to
smash the entire Pogatha civi-
lization, And they did not
want to do that.
There was an element of
pride in the Pogatha view-
point. They asked themselves:
would not suicide be better
than ignominious slaughter at
the hands of the alien Earth-
men? Unless a peace with
honor could be negotiated, the
Pogatha would fight to the
last Pogath, and would quite
likely use thermonuclear
bombs in a final blaze of self-
destructive glory.
The four Pogatha who were
coming to the little convent of
the Cathedral Chapter of the
Sisters of the Holy Nativity
were negotiators who had to
be handled with the utmost
care. Sister Mary Magdalene
was no military expert, and
she was not an interstellar dip-
lomat; but she knew that the
final disposition of a world
might rest with her. It was a
heavy cross to bear, for a
woman who had sp>ent twenty
years of her life as a nun.
OISTER MARY MAGDA-
*^LENE turned her school
duties over to Sister Angela.
There was mild regret in-
volved in this; one of Sister
Mary Magdalene’s joys had
been teaching the dramatics
class in the parochial high
school. They had been prepar-
ing a performance of Murder
in the Cathedral for the fol-
lowing month. Well, Sister
Angela could handle it well
enough.
The supplies necessary for
the well-being of the Pogatha
were sent by the Government;
they consisted mostly of cap>-
tured goods. A cookbook,
translated by Government ex-
p>erts, came with the food,
along with a note: “T/reje
joods are not for human con-
sumption. Since they are
canned, there is no need to
12
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
season them. Under no cir-
cumstances should they be
mixed with Terrestrial foods.
Where water is called jor, use
only distilled water, never tap
water. For other liquids, use
only those provided.”
There was also a book of
etiquette and table settings for
four. The Pogatha would eat
alone; there would be no dip-
lomatic banquets here. Sister
Mary Magdalene found out
why when she went, accompa-
nied by Felicity, to talk to the
sisters who prepared the meals
for the convent.
ISTER ELIZABETH was
a plumpish, smiling woman
who loved cooking and good
food; she ruled her domain
with an almost queenly__ air.
Looking like a contented
plump hausjrau in her kitchen
uniform, she smiled as Sister
Mary Magdalene came in.
“Good morning. Sister.”
“Have you opened any of
the Pogatha food cans yet?”
the Sister-in-Charge wanted
to know.
“I didn’t know whether I
should,” Sister Elizabeth said.
Seeing Felicity prowling on
the worktable, in search of
scraps of food, she waved at
the cat goodnaturedly, and
said, “Stay away from there,
Felicity! That’s lunch!”
The cat glowered at her and
leaped to the floor.
Sister Mary Magdalene
said, “I’d like to have a look
at the stuff they’e going to
eat. Supfxise you pick a can
at random, and we’ll open it
up.”
Sister Elizabeth nodded and
went into the storeroom. She
returned carrying an ordinary-
looking can. Its label was cov-
ered with queer script, and it
bore a picture of a repulsive-
looking little animal. Above
the label was pasted a smaller
label which read, in Roman
characters, VAGHA.
Sister Mary Magdalene
flipped open the translated
Pogatha cookbook and ran her
finger along the “V” section
of the index. Finding her ref-
erence, she turned the pages
and read. After a moment she
announced, “It’s supposed to
be something like rabbit stew.
Go ahead and open it.”
Sister Elizabeth put it in
the opener and pressed the
starter. The blade bit in. The
top of the can lifted.
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
13
‘Whooj!’^ said Sister Mary
Magdalene.
^‘Ugh!” said Sister Eliza-
beth.
pVEN FELICITY, who had
been so interested that she
had jumped up to the table to
watch the proceedings, wrin-
kled her bewhiskered nose in
disgust and backed away.
“It’s spoiled,” Sister Eliza-
beth said sadly.
But the odor was not quite
that of decay. True, .there was
a background of Limburger
cheese overlaid with musk;
but this was punctuated pun-
gently with something that
smelled like a cross between
butyl mercaptan and ammonia.
“No,” said Sister Mary
Magdalene unhappily. “It says
in the book that the foods
have distinctive odors.”
“With the accent on the
Stine. Do you mean I have to
prepare stuff like that in my
kitchen?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Sister
Mary Magdalene.
“But everything else will
smell like that! It’ll absolutely
ruin everything!” -
“You’ll just have to keep
our own food covered. And re-
member that ours smells just
as bad to them.”
Sister Elizabeth nodded,
tightlipp>ed, the joviality gone
from her face. Now she, too,
had her cross to bear.
II
T he appearance
of the Pogatha, when
they finally arrived,
did not shock Sister Mary
Magdalene; she had been pre-
pared for the sight of ugly
caricatures of human beings
by the photographs in the bro-
chure. Nor was she bothered
by the faint aroma, not after
the much stronger smell of the
can of stew. But to have one
of them address her in nearly-
perfect English almost floored
her. Somehow, she had simply
not prepared herself for intel-
ligent speech from alien lips.
Father Destry had brought
them in from the spacep>ort,
along with the two Earthmen
who were their honor escort.
She had been watching the
courtyard through the window
of her office, and had thought
she was quite- prepared for
14 FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
them when Father Destry es-
corted them into the office.
“Sister Mary Magdalene,
permit me to introduce our
guests. This is Vor Nollig,
Chief Diplomat, and her as-
sistants: Vor Betla, Vor Gon-
takel, and Vor Vun.”
And Vor Nollig said, “I am
honored, Sister.”
The voice was deep, like
that of a man’s, and there was
certainly nothing effeminate
about these creatures. The
nun, in her surprise, could
only choke out a hasty:
“Thank you.” Then she stood
back, trying to keep a pleasant
smile on her face while the
others sf>oke their pieces.
They were not tall — no tall-
er than Sister Mary Magda-
lene’s own five foot five — but
they were massively built.
Their clothing was full and
bright-colored. And, in spite
of their alienness, the nun
could tell them apart with no
difficulty. Vor Nollig and Vor
Betla had skins of a vivid co-
balt-blue color. Vor Gontakel
was green, while Vor Vun was
yellow.
HE GOVERNMENT bro-
chure, Sister Mary Magda-
lene recalled, had remarked
that the Pogatha had races
that differed from each other,
as did the races of Earth. The
blue color was a pigment,
while the yellow color was the
color of their blood — thus giv-
ing the Pogatha a range of
yellow-green-blue shades ac-
cording to the varying amount
of pigment in the skin.
In an odd parallel to Earth
history, the Blues had long
been the dominant race, hold-
ing the others in subjection. It
had been less than a century
ago that the Yellows had been
released from slavery, and the
Greens were still poverty-
stricken underdogs. Only the
coming of the Earthmen had
brought the three races togeth-
er in a common cause.
Father Destry was introduc-
ing the two Earthmen.
“ . . . Secretary Masterson
and Secretary Bass. They will
be staying at the Holy Cross
Monastery during the negotia-
tions.”
Sister Mary Magdalene had
recovered her composure by
now. Looking around with a
sweeping gesture that took in
Father Destry, the four aliens,
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
15
the stocky Masterson and the
elongated Bass, she said,
“Won’t you all sit down?”
“You are most gracious,”
said Vor Nollig brusquely,
“but our trip has been a long
one, and we are most anxious
to — ah — the word — f r e s h e n
up, is it?”
The nun nodded. “I’ll show
you to your rooms.”
“You are most kind.”
“I think you’ll find every-
thing prepared. If you don’t,
just ask for whatever you’ll
need.”
CHE LEFT the men in her
office and escorted the four
Pogatha outside, across to the
part of the convent where
they would be staying. When
the aliens were installed in
their rooms. Sister Mary Mag-
dalene returned to her office
and was surprised to find Fa-
ther Destry and *1iie two U.N.
Secretaries still there. She had
supposed that the priest would
have taken the U.N. men over
to the monastery.
“About the Pogatha,” said
Secretary Masterson with a
nervous quirk of his fleshy
lips. “Be careful with them,
will you. Sister? They’re rath-
er — uh — prejudiced, you see.”
“So am I. Against them,
that is.”
“No, no. I don’t mean prej-
udiced against you or any oth-
er human. Naturally we don’t
expect much genuine warmth
between peoples who are fight-
ing. But I’m referring to the
strong racial antipathy among
themselves.”
“Between the Blues, the
Yellows, and the Greens,” Sec-
retary Bass put in. “They try
to be polite to each other, but
there’s no socializing. It’s a
different kind of prejudice en-
tirely, Sister.”
“Yes,” Masterson said.
“Any one of them might be
willing to sit down to talk to
you, but not while one of an-
other color was around.”
“I see,” said the sister. “I’ll
keep that in mind. Is there
anything else I should remem-
ber?”
Secretary Masterson smiled
understandingly. “It’s hard to
say. Handling an alien race
isn’t easy — but remember,
they don’t expect us to do eve-
rything right; they just want
us to show that we’re not pur-
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
16
posely trying to offend them.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Sis-
ter Mary Magdalene.
AN HOUR later, Sister
Mary Magdalene decided
that she, in her capacity as a
hostess here at the convent,
had best go around to see how
her guests were doing. Her
robes swished softly as she
went down the hallway. Be-
hind her. Felicity padded si-
lently along.
Sister IHary Magdalene
paused outside V'^or Nollig’s
door and rapped. .\fter a
moment it opened a little. The
alien was dimly visible just
inside the doorway.
“Yes, Sister?” said Vor
Nollig.
Sister Mary IMagdalene
forced herself to smile ingrati-
atingly. “I hope everything’s
satisfactory.”
“Oh, yes. Yes indeed.” The
door opened another few in-
ches, far enough to let the
nun see that Vor Betla stood
behind Vor Nollig.
“Please you yes come in?”
asked Vor Betla diffidently.
There was something in the
alien’s tone that indicated that
the invitation had been of-
fered in an attempt at p>olite-
ness, and that the Pogath
woman was not anxious to
have it actually accepted.
Sister Mary Magdalene was
still trying to decide what she
should say, when suddenly Vor
Betla looked down and in a
startled voice said, “What is?^’
'THE NUN’S glance went to,
the floor. Felicity was
standing there, her gleaming
green eyes observing the Po-
gath women intently. Sister
Mary Magdalene scooped the
cat up affectionately and held
it against her. “This is Feli-
city. My cat.”
“Gat?” said Vor Betla,
puzzled.
“Cat,” Vor Nollig corrected
her. A babble of incompre-
hensible syllables followed. Fi-
nally Vor Ndlig turned to the
nun and said softly, “Pardon
my breach of etiquette, but
Vor Betla doesn’t understand
your language too well. She
had never heard of a cat, and
I was explaining that they are
dumb animals kept as pets.
We do not keep such animals
on Pogathan.”
A LIHLE INTELLIGENCE
“I see,” said Sister Mary
Magdalene, trying to keep the
chill out of her voice. She was
not pleased by the slighting
reference to the cat. “If every-
thing is fine, ITl look after my
other guests. If you need any-
thing, just ask.”
“Of course. Sister,” said
Vor Nollig, closing the door.
'T’HE NUN repressed what
would have been an irra-
tional and sinful current of
anger. She swept on down the
hall to the next apartment and
knocked. “Poor Felicity,” she
murmured soothingly to the
cat resting on her other arm.
“Don’t let their insults upset
you. After all, they aren’t hu-
mans, you know.”
The door opened.
“I beg pardon?” said the
green-skinned Vor Gontakel.
“Oh,” Sister Mary Magda-
lene said, feeling awkward.
“Sorry. I was talking to Feli-
city.”
“Ah,” said the green Po-
gath.
“We came to see if every-
thing was comfortable in your
room. Didn’t we. Felicity?”
^^Meerorow," Felicity said.
“Oh, yes,” said Vor Gonta-
17
kel. “All is quite as should be.
Quite.”
“Meerowou,” Felicity said.
‘^Mrourr”
Vor Gontakel said, “This
means what?”
Sister Mary Magdalene
smiled. “Felicity says she
hopes you’ll call us if any-
thing is not to your liking.”
Vor Gontakel smiled broad-
ly, showing her golden teeth.
“I am quite comfortable,
thank you. Sister. And thank
you. Felicity.”
The door closed. Sister
Mary Magdalene felt more
cheerful; Vor Gontakel had at
least been pleasant.
One more trip to make; the
last, thank Heaven. The nun
rapped on the final door.
^WOR VUN slowly opened
” her door, peered out, then
stepped back in alarmed dis-
taste. “A cat!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry if I frightened
you,” Sister Mary Magdalene
said quickly.
“Frightened? No; I just do
not like cats. When I was a
prisoner aboard one of your
spaceships, they had a cat.”
The alien woman held out a
saffron-skinned arm. Three
18
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
furrows of scar tissue stood
out darkly. “I was scratched.
Infection set in, and none of
the Earthmen’s medicine could
be used. It is a good thing that
there was an exchange of pris-
oners, or I might have died.”
The alien paused, as if re-
alizing that her speech was
not precisely diplomatic. ‘T am
sorry,” she said, forcing a
smile. “But — you under-
stand?”
“Certainly,” the nun said.
For the third time in ten min-
utes she went through the nec-
essary ritual of asking after
her guests’ comfort; and for
the third time, she was assured
that all was well.
Sister Mary Magdalene re-
turned to her office. “Co^me
on. Felicity,” she whispvered
soothingly. “Can’t have you
worrying our siar boarders.”
p.ATHER DESTRY was
waiting for Sister Mary
Magdalene when she came
back from Mass the following
morning. He was looking at
her with a puzzled air.
“Where is everyone?”
Ignoring his question for
the moment. Sister Mary
Magdalene jabbed furiously at
the air conditioner button.
“Isn’t this thing working?”
she asked fretfully of no one
in particular. “It seems as
though I can still smell it.”
Then she realized that the
priest had addressed her, and
that he was still waiting with
imperious patience for an an-
swer.
“Father Pierce kindly invit-
ed us to use the St. James
Huntington Chapel this morn-
ing,” she said, feeling a twinge
of embarrassment at her own
unintentional rudeness. “Our
own is too close to the kitch-
en.”
Father Destry’s face
showed his lack of compre-
hension. “You went over to the
monastery? Kitchen?”
Sister Mary Magdalene
sighed patiently. “Father Des-
try, I’m morally certain that
it would have been impossible
for anyone to have retained a
properly reverent attitude at
Mass if it was held in a chap-
el that smelled to h’gh Heav-
en of long-dead fish!”
Her voice had risen in
pitch during the last few
words, and she cut off the
crescendo with a sudden
clamping together of her lips
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
19
before her indignation dis-
tressed the priest.
, “The Pogatha rose early
for breakfast. They wouldn’t
let Sister Elizabeth cook it.
Vor Vun — that’s the yellow
one — did the honors, and each
one ate in his — her — own
room. That meant that those
meals were carried from the
kitchen to the rooms. You
should have been here. We just
barely made it through Lauds.”
pATHER DESTRY was ob-
viously trying to control a
smile, which inwardly pleased
Sister Mary IMagdalene. It
was encouraging to know that
even Father Destry could be
amused by something.
“I imagine the air condition-
ers have taken care of it by
now,” he said carefully. “I
didn’t notice a thing when I
came through the courtyard.”
He glanced at the big clock on
the wall. “The first meeting be-
tween the official representa-
tives of Pogathan and Earth
begins in an hour. I want. . .”
There was a rap at the door.
“Yes?”
Sister Martha, one of the
younger nuns, entered. There
was a vaguely apprehensive
look on her young face. “The
Pc^atha are here to see you,
Sister.”
She stood aside while the
four aliens trooped in, led by
the imposing Blue, Vor Xollig.
Sister Mary ^lagdalene greet-
ed them with as much hearti-
ness as she could muster, con-
sidering the episode of break-
fast.
Vor Nollig said,'^ “If it is at
all possible, we would like to
stroll around the grounds, look
at your buildings. Perhaps you
could take us on a tour?”
OSTESS or not, the last
thing Sister Mary Mag-
dalene wanted to do now was
shepherd the four aliens round
the Cathedral grounds. She
glanced meaningfully at Fa-
ther Destry, who scowled
faintly, then brightened and
nodded.
“It would be a pleasure,”
the priest said. “I’ll be glad to
show you the Cathedral
grounds.”
And bless you for it, the nun
thought as the little group left.
After they had gone, she
rubbed a finger speculatively
across the tip of her nose. Was
she wrong, or did there seem
20
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
to be something peculiar in the
actions of the aliens? They had
seemed to be in a tremendous
hurry to leave; and the expres-
sions on their faces were
strained. Or were they? It was
hard to correlate any Pogatha
expressions with their human
equivalents. And, of course,
Sister Mary Magdalene was no
expert on extraterrestrial psy-
chology.
Abruplty she ceased worry-
ing about the behavior of the
Pogatha. With her finger still
on her nose, she caught the
aroma of the morning’s coffee
drifting from the kitchen,
where it was being prepared.
She smiled; then she indulged
in the first good, deep, joyous
laugh she had had in two
weeks.
Ill
T hat evening, af-
ter the Pogatha had
returned to their quar-
ters, Sister Mary Magdalene’s
private meditations were in-
terrupted by a phone call from
Secretary Masterson, the
heavyset U. N. man. His fleshy
face had a tense, worried look
on it.
“Sister, I know this might
be overstepping my authority,
but I have the fate of a war to
deal with.”
“Just what’s the trouble, Mr.
Masterson?”
“At the meeting today, the
Pogatha seemed — I don’t quite
know how to put it — offended,
I suppose. They were touchy
and unreasonable, and they
quarreled among themselves
during the conference — all in
a strictly diplomatic way, of
course. I’m afraid we got rath-
er touchy ourselves.”
“How sad,” the nun said.
“We all have such high hopes
for the success of these nego-
tiations.”
“Was there some incident
that might have irritated them.
Sister? I don’t mean to imply
any carelessness, but was there
anything that might have up-
set them?”
“The only thing I can think
of is the smell of the morning
coffee,” said the nun. “They
came to me asking to be taken
on a tour of the Cathedral
grounds, and they seemed in
an awful hurry to get out of
the building. When they were
gone, I smelled the coffee be-
ing prepared; it must have
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
21
nauseated them as much as
their foods bother us.”
Masterson’s face cleared a
little. “That might be it. They
are touchy people, and maybe
they thought the coffee odor
that they found so revolting
had been generated for their
benefit.” He paused for a long
moment before he said, “Well,
that sort of thing is too much
for you, and it’s obviously too
much for them. I’ll speak to
Bishop Courtland tonight.
We’ll have to make better ar-
rangements. Meanwhile, do
you think you could do some-
thing about supper tonight?
Get them out of there some-
how, and. . .”
“That might be a little diffi-
cult,” said Sister Mary Mag-
dalene. “I think it would be
better if we ate out.”
“Very well. And I’ll talk to
the bishop.”
OHE WAITED a moment for
^ the screen to clear after
Secretary Masterson broke
contact, then dialed the num-
ber of the Holy Cross Monas-
tery on ihe far side of the
Cathedral. The face of a monk
appeared on the screen, the
cowl of his white robe lying in
graceful folds around his
throat.
Sister Mary Magdalene
said, “Father Pierce, you were
gracious enough to ask us to
your chapel this morning be-
cause of the alien aroma here.
I wonder if you’d be good
enough to ask us to dinner to-
night? Our alien friends don’t
seem to like our odors any
more than we like theirs, and
so we can’t cook here.”
Father Pierce laughed cheer-
fully. “We’ll have to use the
public dining hall, of course;
but I think we can manage it.”
“It’ll have to be ~n two
shifts,” the nun said. “We
can’t leave this place deserted,
much as we’d like to while
they’re eating.”
“Don’t worry. Sister. We’ll
arrange something. But what
about tomorrow and the next
day?”
Sister Mary ^Magdalene
smiled. “We’ll worry about
that if we have to, but I think
the Pogatha are on their way
out of her£" Secretary Master-
son is going to make different
arrangements with the bishop.”
“You don’t think they’ll be
transferred to usV'
22
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
“Hardly, Father Pierce.
They’ll have to leave the Ca-
thedral entirely.”
It was a pleasant, if ungra-
cious thought. But Sister Mary
Magdalene had taken no vows
to put herself and her nuns
into great inconvenience for the
sake of unpleasant alien crea-
tures. She would be glad to
see them go.
TC/¥ORNING came. Sister
Mary Magdalene sat in
Choir, listening to the words
of the Divine Office and won-
dering why the Church had
been chosen as a meeting-place
for the two so alien races. It
had not been a successful meet-
ing thus far; but, she pondered,
was there some deep>er reason
for the coming-together than
mere political negotiation?
The soft, sweet voices of the
women, singing ' alternately
from opposite sides of the
chapel in the Domine, Dominus
noster, were like the ringing of
crystal chimes rather than the
deeper, bell-like ringing that
resounded from the throats of
the monks on the opposite sides
of the great cathedral.
And, like crystal, their voic-
es seemed to shatter under the
impact of the hoarse, ugly, bel-
lowing scream that suddenly
filled the air.
A moment later, the singing
resumed, uncertainly but
gamely, as monks and nuns
compelled themselves to con-
tinue the service regardless.
Sister Mary Magdalene felt
the unaccustomed tingle of fear
within her. What had hap-
pened? Trouble with the
aliens? Or merely an excitable
visitor taken aback by a sur-
prise encounter with one of the
Pogatha?
It might be almost anything.
Tension grew within the nun.
She had to know.
l^e rose from her seat and
slipped away down the aisle.
Behind her, the singing contin-
ued with renewed vigor. But
that unGodly scream still
echoed in her ears.
OD IN HEAVEN, thought
Sister Mary Magdalene an
hour later. What are You doing
to Your servants and hand-
maidens now? Whoever heard
of a convent full of cops?
She hadn’t realized that she
had spoken the last sentence
A LimE INTELLIGENCE
23
half aloud until she saw Father
Destry’s astonished and re-
proachful expression. She red-
dened at once.
“Please, Sister!” the priest
murmured. “They’re not ‘cops’
— they’re WBCI officers!”
Sister Mary Magdalene nod-
ded contritely and glanced
through the open door of her
office at the trio of big, bulky
men who were conferring in
low tones in the corridor. The
label, she thought glumly,
made no difference. WBCI or
not, they were still cops.
The nun felt dazed. Too
much had happ>ened in the past
hour. Sister Mary Magdalene
felt as though everything were
twisted and broken around her,
as the body of Vor Nollig had
been twisted and broken.
Vor Nollig, the Blue: Vor
Nollig, the female Pogath; Vor
Nollig, the Chief Diplomat of
Pogathan — dead, with a com-
mon carving knife plunged into
her throat, and her alien
blood all over the floor of the
room in which she had slept
the night before.
She still slept there; she
would sleep eternally. The
WBCI men had not yet re-
moved the body.
\70R I BETL.A., the other
’ Blue, had found her, and it
had been the outraged scream
of Vor Betla that had broken
the peace of the convent. Sister
Mary Magdalene wondered
bleakly if that peace would
ever be whole again.
First the scream, then the
violence of the raging fight as
the other two Pogatha had
tried to subdue Vor Betla, who
seemed to be intent on destroy-
ing the convent with her bare
hands. And now, the quiet
warmth of Sister Mary Mag-
dalene’s inviolate little world
had suddenly and jarringly
been defiled by the entrance of
a dozen men, one right after
another. But they had come too
late; blood had already been
shed.
“You look ill. Sister,” said
Father Destry, suddenly soli-
citous. “Wouldn’t you like to
lie down for a while!”
Sister Mary hlagdalene
shook her head violently. “No!
No, I’ll be all right; it’s just
the — the shock.”
“The bishop gave me strict
orders to make sure that none
of this disturbs you.”
“I know what he said, and I
appreciate it. But I’m afraid
24
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
we have already been dis-
turbed.” There was a touch of
acid in her voice.
Bishop Courtland, his fine
old face looking haggard and
unhappy, had come and gone
again. Sister Mary Magdalene
wished he had not gone, but
there was no help for it; the
bishop had to deal with the
stratoplane load of high offi-
cials who had rocketed in as
soon as the news had reached
the Capital.
QNE OF THE World Bu-
reau of Criminal Investiga-
tion men removed his hat in a
gesture of respect and stepped
into the nun’s office. She no-
ticed out -of the corner of her
eye that the other WBCI men,
belatedly remembering where
they were, were taking their
hats off, too.
“I’m Major Brock, Sister.
Captain Lehmann told me that
you’re the Sister-in-Charge
here.”
Sister Mary Magdalene nod-
ded wordlessly. Captain Leh-
mann had been in charge of the
group that had come rushing
in at Father Destry’s call;
they had been hidden outside
the cathedral grounds, osten-
sibly to protect the alien visi-
tors.
“I know this is — unpleas-
ant,” Major Brock said. He
was a big man who was ob-
viously finding it difficult to
keep his voice at the soft level
he believed was appropriate in
here. “It’s more than a matter
of one life at stake. Sister. We
have to find out who did this.”
Sister Mary Magdalene nod-
ded, thinking. The sooner you
find out, the sooner all of you
will leave here. “I’ll do all I
can to help,” she told him.
“We’d like to question the
• sisters,” he said apologetically.
“We’d like to know if any of
them saw or heard anything
unusual during the night.”
The nun frowned. “What
time was the alien killed,
Major?”
“We don’t know. If she were
human, we’d be able to pin-
point it within a matter of sec-
onds. But we don’t know how
fast the blood ...” He stopped
suddenly on the “d” of
“blood,” as though he had real-
ized that such gory subjects
might not be proper conversa-
tion here.
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
25
CISTER MARY MAGDA-
'^LENE was amused at the
WBCI man’s exaggerated tact.
“How fast the blood coagu-
lates,” she completed, a bit sur-
prised at her own calmness.
“Nor, I suppose, how soon
rigor mortis sets in, nor how
long it takes the body to cool.”
“That’s about it. We’ll just
have to check with everj^body
to see if anyone saw anything
that might help us.”
“Would you tell me one
thing?” Sister Mary IMagda-
lene said, glancing hesitantly
at the silent, glowering figure
of Father Destry. “Can you
tell me who the suspects are?
And please don’t say ‘every-
body’ — I mean the immediate
suspects.”
“Frankly,” said Major
Brock, “we think it might be
one of the aliens; but I’m
afraid that might just be preju-
dice. There are other possibili-
ties.”
“You don’t suspect one of
us!”
“Not now. But I can’t over-
look the p>ossibility. If any of
the sisters has a brother or a
father in the Space Service ...”
“I concede the possibility,”
said Sister Mary Magdalene
reluctantly. “And I suppose the
same thing might hold true for
anyone else.”
“It might, but conditions
here pretty well confine the
suspects to the sisters and the
aliens. After all, you’ve been
pretty clos^y guarded, and
pretty secure here.” The WBCI
man smiled. “Except from in-
vasion by cops.” He won Sister
Magdalene’s undying love with
that last sentence.
Father Destry swallowed
hard to maintain his composure
and said, “I suppose I’ll have
to remain if the sisters are to
be questioned. The bishop ...”
“I understand. Father; I’ll
try not to take too long.”
Sister Mary Magdalene
sighed and checked the sched-
ule of Masses in the Cathedral
of the Blessed Sacrament.
There would be little chance of
her hearing IMass in the chapel
here, with all this going on.
IV
T he nightmarish
morning dragged slow-
ly along. Sister Mary
Magdalene phoned the Mother
Superior of the order in Wis-
consin, to assure her that eve-
rything was under control; it
26
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
was true, if not wholly accu-
rate. Then it was the nun’s
task to interview each of her
Sisters, one by one, to learn
her story of the night before.
They knew nothing. None of
them was lying. Sister Mary
Magdalene knew, and none of
them was capable of murder.
Not until the Major came to
Sister Angela did anything new
come up. Sister Angela was
asked if .she had noticed any-
thing unusual.
“Yes,” she said flatly.
“There was someone in the
courtyard last night. I saw him
from my window.”
**Him?” Sister Mary Magda-
lene repeated in astonishment,
sitting bolt upright in her
chair.
Sister Angela nodded nerv-
ously. “It — it looked like a
monk.”
“How do you know it was a
monk?” asked the Major.
“Well, he was wearing a robe
■ — with the cowl down. The
moon was pretty bright; I
could see him clearly.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“It wasn’t thit bright,
Major. But I’m sure it was —
well, a man dressed in a monk’s
habit.”
Major Brock frowned and
chewed at the ends of his mus-
tache. “We’ll have to investi-
gate this more fully.”
Sister Mary Magdalene rose.
A quick glance at the clock
told her that it was her last
chance to make it to Mass.
For an instant, a niggling in-
ward voice told her that miss-
ing Mass just this once would
be excusable under the circum-
stances, but she fought it
down.
“Would you excuse me?”
she said to Brock. “I must at-
tend Mass at this hour.”
“Of course. Sister.” Brock
did not seem pleased at the
prospect of having to carry on
without her; but, as always,
he maintained careful respect
for the churchly activities go-
ing on about him.
CISTER MARY MAGDA-
'^LENE went out, headed for
the Cathedral. Outside, every-
thing looked so normal that
she could hardly believe any-
thing had really happened. It
was not until she reached the
Cathedral itself that depression
again struck her.
The vestment radiations
were off.
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
27
The vestments of the clergy
were fluorescent; under the ra-
diation from the projectors in
the walls, the chasubles, tunics,
and dalmatics, the stoles, mani-
ples, and altar frontal, all
glowed with color. The color
depended on the wavelength of
the radiation used. There was
the somber violet of , the peni-
tential seasons of Lent and
Advent, the restful green of
Epiphany and the long weeks
after Trinity, the joyous white
of Christmas and Easter, and
the blazing red of Pentecost.
But without the radiations,
the vestments were black— the
somber black of the Requiem,
the Mass of the Dead.
pOR A MOMENT, Sister
Mary Magdalene’s thoughts
were as black as the hangings
on the altar. And then she real-
ized that, again, there was Rea-
son behind whatever was going
on here. There was no doubt
in her own mind that the Po-
gatha were intelHgent, reason-
ing beings, although the ques-
tion had never been settled on
a theological level by the
Church. She would pray for
the rep>ose of the soul of Vor
Nollig.
Forty-five minutes later, she
was walking back toward the
convent, her own soul strange-
ly at rest. For just a short
time, there toward the end, she
had felt oddly apprehensive
about having had Vor Nollig
in mind while the celebrant in-
toned the Agnus Dei — “O -
Lamb of God that takest away
the sins of the world, grant
them rest eternal.” But then
the words of the Last Gospel
had come to reassure her: *‘All
things were made by Him, and
without Him was not anything
made.” Surely it could not be
wrong to pray for the happi-
ness of one of God’s creatures,
no matter how strangely made.
She was to think that
thought again within the next
five minutes.
C JSTER ELIZABETH,
round and chubby and
looking almost comically pen-
guinlike, was standing at the
gate, tears rolling down her
plump cheeks.
“Why, Sister Elizabeth —
what’s the trouble?”
“Oh, Sister, Sister!” She
burst into real sobs and buried
her head miserably in Sister
28
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
Mary Magdalene’s shoulder.
“She’s dead — murdered!”
For a wild moment, Sister
Mary Magdalene thought that
Sister Elizabeth was referring
to the dead Pogatha, Vor Nol-
lig; but then she knew it was
not so, and her numbed mind
refused to speculate any fur-
ther. She could only shake Sis-
ter Elizabeth and say, “Who?
Who is dead? Who?”
“Her — her little head’s all
burned off!” sobbed the tear-
ful nun; she was becoming
hysterical now, shaking con-
vulsively. Sister Mary Magda-
lene gripped Sister Elizabeth’s
shoulders firmly,
“Who?”
Sister Elizabeth looked up.
When she spoke it w'as in a
shocked whisper. “Felicity,
Sister. Your cat! She’s dead!”
Sister Mary Magdalene re-
mained quite still, letting the
first tide of grief wash over
her. A moment later, she was
calm again. The cat had been
her beloved companion for
years, but Sister Mary Magda-
lene felt no grief now — merely
pity for the unfortunate one
who could have done such a
brutal deed, and sorrow over
the loss of a dear friend. A mo-
ment later the anger began, and
Sister Mary Magdalene prayed
for the strength to unravel the
mystery of the sudden out-
break of violence in these
peaceful precincts,
TWHEN SHE returned to
^ her office a few moments
later, the three living aliens
were standing grouped together
near one wall of the room.
Secretary Masterson and Sec-
retary Bass were not too far
away. !Major Brock was seat-
ed in the guest chair, with Fa-
ther Destry standing behind
him. Brock was speaking.
“ . . . and that’s about it.
Someone — we don’t know who
— came in here last night. One
of the Sisters saw him heading
toward the back gate of the
courtyard, and another has
told us that the back gate w^
unlocked this morning — and it
shouldn’t have been, because
she’s positive she locked it the
night before.” Brock looked up
at Sister Mary Magdalene, and
his expression changed as he
saw the frozen mask of her
face. The nun was filled with
hot anger, burning and right-
eous, but under complete and
icy control.
A LimE INTELLIGENCE
29
‘What is it, Sister?"
“Would you come with me,
Major Brock? I have some-
thing to show you. And Father
Destry, if you would, I would
prefer that the rest of you re-
main here," She spoke crisply.
This was, after all, her domain.
She led the two men, priest
and policeman, to the court-
yard and around to the rear of
the convent. Then they went
out to the broad park beyond.
Fifteen yards from the gate
lay the charred, pitiful remains
of the cat.
Major Brock knelt to look
at it, “A dead cat," he said in
a blank voice,
“Felicity," said Father Des-
try, “Fm sorry. Sister," The
nun knew the sorrow was for
her; Father Destry had never
felt much warmth for the little
animal.
T^AJOR BROCK rose and
said, softly, “I’m afraid I
don’t quite see what this has to
do with. , . "
“Look at her head,” said the
nun in a hot-cold voice,
“Burned! That’s the work of a
Brymer beamgun. Close range;
not more than ten feet, possi-
bly less."
Brock knelt again, picking
up the body and studying it
closely for a silent moment.
When he looked up, the cat
still in his hands, there was
new respect in^ his eyes.
“You’re right. Sister. There’s
the typical hardening of the
tissues around the burn; this
wasn’t done with a torch.”
Father Destry blinked con-
fusedly. “Do you think that
the killing of Sister Mary Mag-
dalene’s pet has something to
do with the — uh — murder of
Vor Nollig?"
“I don’t know," Brock said
slowly. “Sister? What do you
think?"
“I think it does, but I’m not
sure how. I think you’ll find a
connection.”
“This brings something new
into the picture, at least,” said
the Major. “Now we can look
for a Brymer beamgun."
\70R BETLA, the second
’ Blue, who had never been
able to speak English well, had
given it up completely. She was
snarling and snapping at Vor
Vun, who was translating as
best she could. It appeared that
all three of the aliens seemed
to feel that they might be the
30
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
next to get a carving knife in
their insides.
Vor Vun said, “We feel
that you are not doing as well
as you might, Major Brock.
We don’t blame the Govern-
ment of Earth directly for this
insult, but obviously the pre-
cautions that were taken to
protect us were insufficient.”
The Major shook his head.
“The entire grounds around the
Cathedral were patrolled and
guarded by every detection in-
strument known to Earth. No
one could have gotten in.”
Vor Gontakel put the palms
of her green hands together, al-
most as if she were praying.
“It makes a sense. You would
not want us to get out, of
course, so you would have
much of safeguards around.”
“We grant that,” agreed
Vor Vun. “But someone none-
theless killed Vor Nollig, and
her loss is great.”
Vor B e 1 1 a snarled and
yapped.
Vor V'un translated: “You
must turn the killer over to us.
If you do not, there can be no
further talk of peace.”
“How do we know it wasn’t
one of you three?” asked Sec-
retary Masterson suddenly.
Vor Betla barked something.
Vor Vun said, “We would have
no reason for it.”
Major Brock sighed. “I
know. That’s what’s bothered
me all along. Where’s the mo-
tive?”
CISTER MARY MAGDA-
^ LENE, watching silently,
eyed the three aliens. Which
one of them would have killed
Vor Nollig. Which one might
have killed Felicity?
Vor Vun? She hated cats;
had she also hated Vor Nollig?
Or had it been Vor Gontakel,
the despised Green? But why
would she kill Felicity? Had
Vor Betla done it so that she
could become head of the dele-
gation? That made even less
sense.
Motive. What was the mo-
tive?
Had someone else done it?
One of the secretaries, per-
haps? Was there a political
motive behind the crime?
And then — she had to force
herself to think of it — there
was the possibility that one of
the monks — or, worse yet, one
of her own sisters — had done
it.
If an Earthman had done it.
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
31
it was either a political motive
or one of hatred; there could
be nothing personal in it. If
she had been killed by an
Earthman, Vor Nollig had been
killed for some deep, unknown,
or unknowable political ma-
chination — possibly by order
of the Government itself— or
else she had been killed be-
cause some Earthman just
hated the enemy to such an
extent that . . .
Sister Mary Magdalene did
not want to think of blind
hatred such as that.
On the other hand, if one of
the three remaining Pogatha
had done it, the motive could
be any one of several. It could
be personal, or political, or it
might even have a basis in
racial prejudice.
'^HE NUN thought it over
for several minutes without
reaching any conclusions. Mo-
tive would have to be aban-
doned as a way of finding the
killer. For once, motive ould
not enter the solution at all.
Method, then. What was the
method?
Major Brock was saying;
“Even the best of modern aids
to crime detection can’t recon-
struct the past for us. But we
do know part of the killer’s
actions. He ... ”
There was a rap on the door,
and Captain Lehmann thrust
his head inside. “Excuse me if
I’m interrupting. See you a
minute, Major?”
Brock frowned, rose and
went outside, closing the door
behind him> Father Destry
leaned over and whispered to
the nun. “They may susi^ect
me.”
“Nonsense, Father!”
Father Destry pursed his
lips suddenly and said nothing
more. Major Brock put his
head in the door. “Sister,
would you come here a min-
ute?”
She stepped into the hall to
confront two very grim WBCI
men. Captain Lehmann was
holding a Brymer beamgun in
one hand and a bundle of black
cloth in the crook of his arm.
A faint but decidedly foul
stench was perceptible.
“This is the gun,” Lehmann
said, “that killed your cat. At
least, as far as we , know. An
energy beam has no traceable
ballistics characteristics. We
found it wrapped in this ...”
He gestured toward the black
32
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
bundle, “...and shoved under
one of the pews in the chapel.”
■^ITH A SUDDEN move-
ment he flipped out the
cloth so it was recognizable.
Sister Mary Magdalene had no
difficulties in recognizing it;
it was the habit of a nun.
“The lab men have already
gone over it,” Major Brock
said. “We can prove who the
owner is by perspiration com-
parison, but there also happens
to be an identification strip in
it. The odor is the blood of Vor
Nollig. It spurted out when she
was stabbed through the
heart.”
Brock opened the habit so
the ID tag became visible.
It said. Sister Elizabeth,
S.H.N.
“We’ll have to talk to her,”
said the Major.
“Of course,” said Sister
Mary Magdalene calmly. “I
imagine you’ll find it was
stolen from her room. Tell me,
why should Father Destry
think you suspect him?”
The sudden, casual change
of subject apparently puzzled
Major Brock. He paused a mo-
ment before answering. “We
don’t, really. That is...”
Again he paused. “He had a
brother. A colonist on Poga-
than. The Pogatha caught him.
He died — not pleasantly, I’m
afraid.” He looked at the
floor. “W> have a similar bit
of information on Sister Eliza-
beth. An uncle.”
“You haven’t mentioned my
nephew yet,” said Sister Mary
Magdalene.
The Major looked surprised.
“No. W6 hadn’t.”
“It’s of no importance, any-
way. Let’s go check with Sister
Elizabeth. I can tell you know
that she knows nothing about
it; she probably doesn’t even
know her spare habit is missing
yet, because it was stolen from
the laundry. The laundry room
is right across from the aliens’
quarters.”
ii’^AIT,” BROCK said.
“You’d rather we didn’t
talk to her, don’t you?”
“It would only upset her.”
“How do you know she
didn’t do it?”
“For the same reason you
don’t think she did. Major.
This thing is beginning to make
sense; I’m beginning to under-
stand the mind that did this
awful thing.”
33
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
He looked at her curiously.
“You have a strange mind
yourself, Sister. I didn’t real-
ize that nuns knew so much
about crime.”
“Major,” she said evenly,
“when I took my vows, I
chose the name ‘Mary Magda-
lene.’ I didn’t pick it out of the
hat.”
The Major nodded silently,
and his gaze shifted to the
closed door of the nun’s office.
“The thing is that the whole
pattern is beginning to make
sense. But I can’t quite see it.”
“It was a badly fumbled job,
really,” said Sister Mary Mag-
dalene. “If an Earthman had
done it, you’d have spotted
him immediately.”
Again the Major nodded. “I
agree. That much of the pic-
ture is clear. It was one of
those three. But unless we
know which one, and know be-
yond any smidgeon of doubt,
we don’t dare make any ac-
cusations.”
The nun turned to Captain
Lehmann. “Did your lab men
find out where that gun was
discharged?”
“Why, yes. We found faint
burn marks on the floor near
the door to Vor Nollig’s room.”
“In the corridor outside,
about four or five feet away?”
“That’s right.”
“Now — and this is impor-
tant — where were they in re-
lation to the door? I mean, if
a person were facing the door,
looking at someone inside the
room, would the burn marks
be behind him or in front?”
“Well — let’s see — the door
opens in, so they’d have to
stand at an angle — mmmm.
Behind.”
“I thought so!” Sister Mary
Magdalene exclaimed in tri-
umph.
Major Brock frowned. “It
almost makes sense, but I
don’t quite. . . ”
“That’s because I have a
vital clue that you don’t have.
Major.”
“Which is?”
She told him.
V
KNOW what
V/V/ was done,” said
Major Brock lev-
elly. “We know how it was
done.” He looked the three
aliens over. “One of you will
tell us why it was done.”
“If you are going to accuse
one of us,” said Vor Gontakel,
34
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
rubbing her green hands care-
fully, “I’m afraid we will have
to resist arrest. Is it not called
a ‘frarrje’?”
“Is insult!” snapped Vor
Betla. “Is stupid! Is lie!”
The Major leaned back in
his chair and looked at the two
Terran diplomats, Bass and
Masterson. “What makes this
so tough,” he said, “is that we
don’t know the motive. If the
plot was hatched by all three
of them, we’re going to have a
hell of a time — excuse me, Sis-
ter — ^proving it, or at least a
rough time doing anything
about it.”
Masterson considered. “Do
you think you could prove it
to the satisfaction of an Earth
court?”
“Maybe.” Brock paused. “I
think so. Vjn a cop, not a
prosecuting attorney.”
I^ASTERSON and Bass
conferred a moment. “All
right — go ahead,” Masterson
said finally. “If it’s a personal
motive, then the other two will
be sensible enough to see that
the killer has greatly en-
dangered the peace negotia-
tions, besides murdering their
leader. And I don’t think it was
a political motive on the part
of all three.”
“Though if it was,” Bass in-
terjected, “nothing we say will
matter anyhow.”
“Okay,” Brock said. “Here’s
what happened:' Sometime
early this morning, around
two — if Sister Angela’s testi-
mony is accurate — the killer
went into the laundry room and
picked up one of the nun’s
habits. Then the killer went to
the kitchen, got a carving
knife, came back and knocked
on the door of Vor Nollig’s
room. Vor Nollig woke and
came to the door. She opened
the door a crack and saw what
appeared to be a nun in the
dim corridor. Not suspecting
anything, Vor Nollig opened
the door wider and stepped
into full view. The killer
stabbed her in the heart with
the knife.”
“Earthman,” said Vor Betla
positively.
“No. Where’s your heart,
Vor Betla?”
The Pogath patted the base
of her throat.
“Ours is here,” Brock said;
“an Earthman would have in-
stinctively stabbed much low-
er, you see.”
A LITTLE INTELLIGENCE
35
qiSTER MARY MAGDA-
LENE repressed a smile.
The Major was bluffing there.
Plenty of human beings had
been stabbed in the throat by
other human beings.
Brock said, “But now comes
the puzzling part. You do not
like cats, Vor Vun. What
would you do if one came
near you? Are you afraid of
them?”
Vor V’'un sniffed. “Afraid?
No. They are harmless; they
can be frightened easily. I
would not pick one up, or al-
low it too close, but I am not
afraid.”
“How about you, Vor Bet-
la?”
“Do? Don’t know. Know
nothing of cats, but that they
harmless dumb animals. May-
be kick if came too close.”
“Vor Gontakel?”
“I too know nothing of cats.
I only saw one once.”
“One of you,” said the
Major judiciously, “is telling
an untruth. Let’s go on with
the story.”
Sister Mary Magdalene
watched their faces, trying to
read emotion in those alien
visages as the Major spoke.
“Then' the killer did a
strange thing. She turned
around and saw Felicity, the
cat. Possibly Felicity had
meowed from behind her and
attracted her attention. And
what does the killer do? She
draws a Brymer beamgun and
kills the cat! Why?”
The Pogatha looked at each
other and then back at the
Major. Their faces, thought
Sister Mary Magdalene, were
utterly unreadable.
“Then the killer picked up
the cat, walked outdoors
through the rear gate, and
threw it into the meadow. It
was this figure that Sister An-
gela saw last night, but the kill-
er had pushed the wimple back,
so she didn’t realize that she
saw a nun’s habit, not a
monk’s. When the killer had
disposed of the cat, she re-
moved the habit, wrapped the
beamgun in it, and went into
the chapel and put it under one
of the pews.”
“Very plausible,” said Vor
Vun. “But not proof that one
of us did it.”
“Not so far. But let’s keep
plugging; why did the killer
wear the nun’s habit?”
“Because was nun!” said
Vor Betla. She pointed an ac-
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
36
cusing blue finger at Sister
Mary Magdalene.
“No,” Brock said. “Because
she wanted Vor Nollig to let
her get close enough to stab
her. You see, we’ve eliminated
you, Vor Betla. You shared
the room; you would have
been allowed in without ques-
tion. But Vor Nollig would
never have allowed a Green or
a Yellow into her room,
would she?”
“No,” admitted the Blue,
looking troubledly at Vor Vun
and Vor Gontakel.
ii^^NOTHER point in your
favor is the fact that
the killer looked like a monk
to Sister Angela. There are no
dark-skinned monks at this
cathedral, and Sister Angela
would have commented on it if
the skin had looked as dark as
yours does. But colors are al-
most impossible to see in
moonlight; a yellow or light
green would have looked pretty
much like human skin, and the
features at a distance would be
hard to recognize as belonging
to a.Pogath.”
“You are playing on preju-
dices,” said Vor Vun angrily.
“This is an inexpensive trick!”
“A cheap trick,” corrected
Major firock. “Except that it
isn’t. However, we must now
prove that it was a Pogath.
We’ve smelled each others’
food, haven’t we? Now, a burnt
cat would smell no differently
than, say, a broiled steak — ex-
cept maybe a little more so.
Why would the killer take the
trouble to remove the cat from
the building? Why not leave it
where it was? If she expected
to get away with one killing,
she could have exp>ect€d to get
away with two.
“She took the cat out simply
because she couldn’t stand the
overjwwering odor! There was
no other p>ossible reason to ex-
pK)se herself that way to the
pKjssible watching eyes of Sis-
ter Angela, or any other nun
who happened to be looking
out the window. It was clever
of the killer to think of drop>-
ping the wimple back and dis-
posing of the white part of the
headdress, so that she would
appear to be a monk. I imagine
it also took a lot of breath-
holding to stand carrying that
burnt cat that far.”
The Pogatha were definitely
eyeing each other now, but the
A LIHLE INTELLIGENCE
37
final wedge remained to be
driven.
“Vor Gontakel!” the !Major
said sharply. “What would you
say if I told you that another
cat at the far end of the cor-
ridor saw you stab Vor Nollig
and burn down Felicity?”
Vor Gk)ntakel looked perfect-
ly unruffled and unperturbed.
No Earthman’s bluff was going
to get by her! “I would say
the cat was lying.”
U'T'HE OTHER two Pogatha
got a confession out of
her,” said Major Brock that
evening. “They’ll take her back
to Pogathan to stand trial.”
Father Destry folded his
hands and smiled. “Sister, you
seem to have all the makings
of a first-class detective. How
did you figure out that it was
Vor Gontakel? I mean, what
started you on that train of
thought?”
“Sister Elizabeth,” the nun
said. “She told me that Felici-
ty had been murdered. And
she had been — murdered, I
mean, not just ‘killed.’ Vor
Gontakel saw me talking to
the cat, and heard Felicity
meow back. How was she to
know that the cat wasn’t intel-
ligent? She knew nothing about
Terrestrial life. The other two
did.
“Felicity was murdered be-
cause Vor Gontakel thought
she was a witness. It was the
only possible motive for Felici-
ty’s murder.”
“What about the motive for
Vor Nollig’s murder?” Father
Destry asked the major.
“Political. There’s a group
of Greens, it seems, who are
determined that the war should
go on. Most of the war is being
fought by Blues, and if they’re
wiped out the so-called minori-
ty groups could take over. I
doubt if it would work that
way, but that’s what this bunch
thinks. Vor Gontakel simply
wanted to kill .a Blue, and
have it blamed on the Earth-
men, in order to stop the
peace talks. But there’s one
thing I think we left untied
here. Sister. Have you stopp>ed
to wonder why she used a
knife on Vor Nollig instead of
the beamgun she was carry-
ing?”
CISTER MARY MAGDA-
‘^LENE nodded. “She didn’t
want every sister in the place
coming out to catch her before
38
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
she had a chance to cover up.
She knew that a burnt Pogath
would smell as bad to us as
burnt cat did to her. But she
didn’t have a chance to use a
knife on Felicity; the cat
would have run away.”
Major Brock nodded in ap-
preciation. “A very neat sum-
mation, Sister. I bow to your
fine deductive abilities. And
now, I imagine, we can get our
staff off the Cathedral premis-
es and leave you p>eople to your
devotions.”
“It’s unfortunate we had to
meet under such unhappy cir-
cumstances, Major,” the nun
said.
“But you were marvelously
helpful, Sister.”
The Major smiled at the
nun, shook Father Destry’s
hand tentatively, as if uncer-
tain that such a gesture was
appropriate, and left. Sister
Mary Magdalene sighed gen-
tly in relief.
Police and aliens and all
were leaving. The Cathedral
was returning to its normal
quietude. In the distance the
big bell was tolling, and it was
time for prayer. She was no
longer a detective; she was
simply Sister Mary Magdalene
of the Sisters of the Holy
Nativity.
It would be good to have
peace here again. But, she ad-
mitted wryly to herself, the ex-
citement had been a not alto-
gether unwelcome change from
normal routine. The thought
brought up old memories of a
life long buried and sealed
away with vows. Sister Mary
Magdalene frowned gently,
dispelling the thoughts, and
quietly began to pray.
★
IX or R DECEMBKU ISSUE
THE RACE INTO SPACE
Starting a series of definitive articles
by Thomas N. Scortia
Don’t miss "Operation Bootstrap" , the first article - — it will be in the
December issue — on sale at all stands, October 1st
fueling
stop
by Calvin M. Knox
Those furry little huma-
noids of World Six, in a re-
mote stellar system, M'ere
friendly and playful —
much too playful!
Planets of perpetual winter
weren’t new... ,
S OMEDAY, they’re going
to invent a detector that
enables a spaceman to see
at a glance whether the planet
in his screens is a good source
of fuel or not. They’ll invent
a gadget that will give off a
thousand-cycle -ping! to indi-
cate that radioactive ores may
be had down yonder.
We didn’t have the benefit
of any such doodad. We were
39
40
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
on our way from Alpha Persei
XI to Beta Ceti III — a con-
siderable hop even under mul-
tilight drive — apd we were
running low on fissionables to
fuel the ship’s power-pile.
Even the occupants of a two-
man EPS scout-ship appreciate
such comforts as warm cabins,
heat for cooking, and the like;
and the way our radioactive in-
dex looked, we were going to
have to start economizing if we
wanted to finish the trip with
the pile still functioning. Rath-
er than become neutron-pinch-
ers we decided to make an
emergency stopoff at the first
planet en route that seemed to
be a likely source for radioac-
tives. That was when I began
wishing somebody would in-
vent a jigger that would pick
out such worlds from space.
Lacking such gadgets, we did
have certain methods we could
fall back on. For one thing, we
knew there was no sense in
landing on a pint-sized world of
low density; it simply wouldn’t
have any of the heavy radioac-
tive metals we wanted. For the
same reason, it was pointless to
pick out a planet that looked as
if it was just about as old as
the universe itself. Radioac-
tives don’t last forever, and a
really old planet would have
some dandy lead deposits but
not much else.
'T'HE PLANET we finally
picked was World Six of
Stellar System DB-158301.
That was the only designation
we had for it in our charts;
there are a lot of planets in the
galaxy, and it would take a
long time to tag a name to each
one. Carp>enter looked up
World 7 in the ephemeris and
found that it was inhabited by
Sixth Level humanoid life-
forms, had an atmosphere that
Earthmen were not encouraged
to breathe, and was roughly
Earthnorm so far as diameter
and density went — which told
us that we were likely to find
the radioactives we were
searching for on it.
I worked out a landing orbit
in a jiffy on that marvelous
bit of ingenuity, the Mark V
Portable Astrocomp; and not
much later, we were spiralling
down to the surface of the
planet for a nightside landing.
Y^E CAME down in the
^ midst of a broad, flat ice-
field that stretched off in all
FUELING STOP
41
directions, broken up only by
barren clumps of upjutting
rock. A small moon hung in the
night sky. Our external-temper-
ature gauges told us that it
was Minus Twenty outside,
and harsh winds blew swirling
methane clouds up at us. Not a
pretty planet at all, arid I won-
dered about the sort of life-
form that inhabited it. A
scout-ship had touched down
here some five years back, ac-
cording to the records; and
evidently they had had some
contact with the natives —
enough contact to classify them
as Sixth Level along the Mac-
pherson Cultural Scale.
Sixth Level means a fairly
high level of culture — food-
producing, with good standards
of craftsmanship but no mass-
production concept of tech-
nology yet. Sixth Level peoples
are still primitive, but they can
give you a rugged time if they
put their minds to it.
We made our" first contact
with the native intelligent life
of World 7 about fifteen min-
utes after landing. Carp>enter
was rigging the gamma detec-
tors for our radioactives
search, and I was busy else-
where in the ship.
Carpenter said, “There’s
something outside throwing
snowballs at us.”
I came over to see. A snow-
ball indeed had been hurled,
and had flattened itself to the
outside of one of our viewports.
I scowled at that: the viewport
was sixty feet above the
ground, and the snow was go-
ing to stay there until the heat
of atmosphere entry melted it
away.
Then 1 saw the alien.
UE WAS STANDING about
twenty feet from the ship,
looking up at us and grinning
like a small boy. I saw a furry
brown humanoid shape, naked
except for some sort of kerchief
knotted round his neck.
“Let’s go down and meet
him,” I suggested. “Maybe he
can help us out.”
Carpenter nodded. He head-
ed for the spacesuit rack, and I
followed him. Minutes later,
we were on our way through
the airlock, and I held clutched
in my arms the precious eight-
een-pound weight that was our
Mark V Astrocomp — the mi-
raculous device that not only
plotted our courses but could
also serve as a translating am-
42
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
plifier for alien languages, as
well as regulating the ship’s
pile and performing half a
dozen other functions. The
Mark V was a triumph of cry-
otronic subminiaturization, an
awesome technological achieve-
ment made possible by the
development of a helium cryo-
stat one inch square.
I led the way through the
airlock. Carpenter behind me,
and by pressing a key on the
Astrocomp I shut the airlock
door by remote wave. I nudged
another key and said to the
alien, “Greetings. We are men
of Earth.”
'^HE Alien was about
, three and a half feet high,
from his furry flat-topped head
to his — I almost gagged with
surprise — his furry feet, to
which ice-skates were attached.
He was definitely humanoid,
and from a simian stock; but I
suspected his nwst immediate
ancester had been of the tarsier
branch of the primates rather
than of the main stem. He had
big goggly eyes set in massive
bony orbital ridges, a flat tiny
nose, a mouth upcurved in a
devilish grin, and not very
much chin or neck. His only
garment was the neckerchief,
but his body was covered by a
thick, coarse brown fur that
must have kept away the cold
very efficiently.
The ice-skates got me,
though. They were very Terran
in appearance: a bit crudely
turned, but neat and sharp,
with keenly-honed runners
that curved upward in front.
He stood with his arms folded,
rocking back and forth slight-
ly on the runners of his skates.
WTiat better way to travel, I
asked myself, on an icebound
world like this one?
The alien said something in
a thick guttural language and
the Astrocomp rendered it,
after a momentary lag, as,
“How may I cheat you?”
Carp>enter and I looked at
each other in alarm and be-
wilderment. Then the Astro-
comp crackled ostentatiously
and added, “Correction: the
most adequate rendering
should be. May we do trade?”
I smiled in relief. The Astro-
comp was a marvelous doo-
hickey, but it wasn’t perfect.
Not even alien races went
around opening conversations
by asking, How may / cheat
you?
FUELING STOP
43
I said, “We aren’t here for
trading. We have simply made
a brief stop-over to find some
fuel.”
A PAUSE while the Astro-
comp turned my words
into gibberish. The little alien
listened gravely; then, rolling
his eyes so one p>ointed at Car-
penter and the other at me, he
.said, “What substance do you
use for fuel?”
“Radioactives. Unstable ele-
ments.” I searched for simpler
words, felt sweat beading my
forehead within the space hel-
met.
Carpenter said, “Metals that
break down into simpler ones.
That give off radiation.
That...”
“The last Earthmen who
visited us mined a substance
they called pitchblende. Would
this be what you seek, Earth-
men?”
“Yes!” Pitchblende is ura-
nium ore, a mixture of the
brown and yellow oxides of
uranium. It was exactly what
we were looking for. The con,
verter of the ship’s atomic pile
gobbled the stuff raw, extract-
ed the fissionables and excret-
ed the rest. “Pitchblende is ex-
actly what we want,” I said ex-
citedly. “If you could show us
where the veins are. . .”
“I will bring a supply of the
substance to you,” the alien
said blandly.
“And what will you want in
exchange?”
“I will bring the ore out of
the goodness of my heart,” said
the little creature. “How much
will you require?”
CONFERRED with Car-
penter. Assuming that the
stuff was reasonably pure, we
didn’t need much — a few
pounds would see us through
any conceivable need, and then
some.
I pointed to the Astrocomp,
which I had rested on the ice
nearby. “We could use an
amount about as big as that
box,” I said.
The alien nodded thoughtful-
ly, studying the Astrocomp.
Then he said, “I will do it. Yes.
I will bring you what you de-
•
sire.
He skated over to the Astro-
comp, peering down at it as if
to get a closer look. He knelt,
examining the row of control
dials, the oscilloscope panel,
the charge indicators. .An As-’
44
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
trocomp is a fascinating sight;
I couldn’t blame the little alien
for being so entranced by it.
I was visualizing a long line
of furry aliens skating gravely
across the icefield, each bearing
slung over one shoulder a little
sack chock-full of pitchblende.
We had figured on a rugged
session of prospecting; instead,
we were having our fuel hand-
ed us on a platter.
It was a pleasant' daydream.
While I was busy dreaming it,
the little alien stooped for a
closer look yet at the Astro-
comp. And then, before I knew
it, he had gathered the irre-
placable device into his wiry
little arms, had grinned cheer-
fully at me, turned, and was
streaking rapidly away on his
skates !
TT TCXDK me perhaps a mi-
crosecond to realize what
had happened; that was long
enough to let the little thief get
a head start. He was ten or fif-
teen feet along before I even
got my feet into action.
It’s no cinch running over
ice, even in spaceboots — and
especially when you’re chasing
a creature who is both native
to the area and equipr>ed for
travelling fast and safely. I
broke into a lumbering un-
steady trot, bawling after the
alien, “Hey, come back here
with that! Come back here!”
I might just as well have
been shouting Ancient Arme-
nian recipes, because the alien
couldn’t understand what I was
yelling, and probably didn’t
care anyway. He just kept on
going. I could picture the devil-
ish glint in his eyes as he gloat-
ed over the way he had swiped
a no-doubt valuable bit of
equipment from a couple of
damfool Earthmen.
Still, for all its miniaturiza-
tion, an Astrocomp is a pretty
heavy piece of merchandise for
a being only three feet and
some inches high to run away
with. The alien was finding it
slow going — relatively slow,
anyway. He moved with uncan-
ny grace, taking good care to
keep ahead of me. My legs
were twice as long as his, but
I was four times as clumsy.
Maybe I , would have caught
up, maybe not.
r>UT ABRUPTLY I was
^ taken out of the contention.
I lost my footing and went
skidding along on my belly
FUELING STOP
45
over about ten feet of ice, stop-
ping only when I managed to
snag a rock outcrop with my
boot. When I looked up, I saw
the little devil fifty feet away,
and vanishing rapidly with his
arms wrapped safely round
what had been* our computer,
navigating device, control cen-
ter, and translator.
I sat up and a moment later
heard a crash behind me.
Turning, I saw Carpenter flat
on his face on the ice. He had
given chase, too — and had no
more success than I had.
Elbowing myself up from
the sitting position, I gingerly
made my way over to Carpen-
ter and dragged him to his
feet. For a moment, there was
nothing either of us could say.
“He — he just grabbed it and
skated away,” Carpenter mut-
tered. “Lifted up the Astro-
comp and beat it.”
“Yeah,” I said.
That was our entire conver-
sation as we carefully crossed
the ice and returned to our
ship.
BROKE out some food
and ate a morose meal;
then I sat down with pencil
and paper and started figuring
out a blastoff orbit. Every
spaceman is supposed to know
how to calculate for takeoff
and landing; in practice, the
Astrocomp does all that sort of
routine stuff, but we didn’t
happ>en to have an Astrocomp
on board. It’s not considered
46
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
normal procedure to carry a
spare. The way they package
them, it’s pretty close to im-
possible to damage an Astro-
comp unless you set your mind
to it; and the Survey Corps
just doesn’t figure on having
its men let aliens steal the de-
vices.
So Carpenter searched
through the ephemeris for the
nearest Terran base, which
turned out to be a four-parsec
hop, while I sweated over the
complicated and annoying job
of computing our nullspace en-
try. The job takes more sweat
than brains; jmu simply have
to balance out a few dozen
simultaneous factors, checking
each one to five or six places.
It’s a hellish job, but the As-
trocomp does it in seconds.
Only our Astrpcomp was prob-
ably getting cackled over tri-
umphantly in some alien tar-
sier-warren by this time. We
felt like saps. But how were
we supposed to know the alien
was hunting for Earthman
souvenirs, and was going to
grab anything detachable?
A FTER THREE or four
hours of dreary arithme-
tic, 1 decided I had just about
had it. I shoved myself away
from the desk and glared at
Carpenter.
“I’m knocking off for the
night. You w'ant to finish the
job?”
Carpenter was never very
much good at computations. He
shook his head and said, “No,
thanks; I’m going to .sack out.”
It was as good an idea as
any. I took a couple of tran-
quilizing tablets just before
climbing into the hay — I didn’t
W'ant to have nightmares about
little thieving furry aliens —
and I slept soundly right
through until the moment the
next morning when another
snowball splatted against the
viewport.
I w'as up and at the window
so fast I surprised my.self. And
there was our ice-skating
friend, looking up from down
there and grinning, and point-
ing. to a sack sitting on^the ice
a few feet from the right stabil-
izing fin of the ship. He
grinned broadly, pointed at the
ship and then at the sack,
turned, and hightailed it across
the ice-field. Maybe he figured
we were going to come after
him with blasters and force
him to give back the Astro-
FUELING STOP
47
comp. He would have been
right, too.
But he was gone by the time
we were in our spacesuits and
out the airlock — opening it
manually this time, because the
Astrocomp was AWOL. All we
saw was a dwindling brown dot
on the horizon. But the sack
still lay near the ship. Carp>en-
ter examined it, fumbled out
his gamma detector, took a
reading.
“It’s radioactive,” he said.
It was pitchblende.
'yHE CONVERTER gobbled
the stuff up greedily, spit-
ting out the impurities and
keeping only the pure fission-
able U-235 it hungered for.
The alien had come through,
all right; he’d delivered the
goods.
We blasted off out of there
an hour later with Carpenter
at the controls, using my cal-
culations; it wasn’t a bad blast-
off at all, considering the fact
that we were doing it by the
book for the first time since
training school. We subradioed
ahead to the Terran base that
we were coming, and would
need a replacement Astro-
comp. We didn’t say why; we
didn’t dare.
Carpenter said, “It doesn’t
make sense — first stealing the
Astrocomp and then bringing
us the pitchblende anyway!
We couldn’t have gone after
them — he didn’t have to bring
the ore.”
“Packrat,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Packrat. It’s a Terran ani-
mal. Steals bright and shiny
things and brings replacements.
It’ll take a piece of silverware
and bring a twig, stuff like
that. But it always trades. I
guess it’s the same with these
people. Grab the Astrocomp,
bring us some ore. The ore’s
useless to them.”
“So is the Astrocomp.”
I looked at Carpenter 'in
sudden puzzlement. “Yeah —
but it’s bright and shiny. May-
be they like to play with gad-
gets.”
TJ^E M.\DE our landing at
^ the Markab base a day
later, and they had a replace-
ment Astrocomp waiting for us.
We managed to ignore the
questions they asked about how
AB
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
we had contrived to lose the
computer, and we completed
our flight to Beta Ceti III
without further mishap.
But I’ve been wondering.
Was that little furry beast a
packrat, a mere acquirer-for-
the-sake-thereof — or did he
have some special reason for
wanting the Astrocomp? Sup-
pose the first scout survey was
wrong; suppose those people
are Level Nine instead of Level
Six. In that case an Astrocomp
would be quite a thing for
them to have. It might cause a
wholesale technological revolu-
tion.
I sort of think the Corps
should send scouts back to
World 7 for another look. But
Carpenter and I filled out a
Loss-of-Materiel form that said
we had accidentally dropped
the Astrocomp down an ice
crevasse, and Fd hate to have
to admit now that we had lied,
that the computer had really
been snatched by a crafty lit-
tle ice-skating alien.
So we’re keeping quiet about
it, I intend to wait and see—
and to hope for the best.
ODo You Know YoiirO
' Scientific Experts? '
Quiz feature by JOSEPH C. STACEY
T ISTED below (in jumbled fashion) are the technical names
of 25 scientific experts, together with the fields in which they
specialize. Can you match up at least 15 of them correctly for a
passing score? 16-to-22 is good; 25-24-or-23 excellent.
What would you call an expert on
1. human and animal be- t — (a) NEPJIOLOGIST
havior?
2. eyes? — (b) ADENOLOGIST
3. the causes of diseases? — (c) ZYMOLOGIST
• DO YOU KNOW YOUR SCIENTIFIC EXPERTS?
49
4. organic tissues?
5. human relationships?
6. skin?
7. diseases of the mind?
8. shells?
9. skulls?
10. the therapeutic use of
gases?
11. language?
12. the nervous system?
13. sign language?
14. clouds?
15. the higher strata of the
atmosphere?
16. the bones of the skeleton?
17. the origin and evolution of
the earth’s topographic
'features?
18. glands?
19. snakes?
20. worms?
21. whales?
22. enzymes?
23. the waters on the earth?
24. water in the atmosphere?
25. blood vessels?*
— (d) PSYCHOLOGIST
— (e) NEUROLOGIST
— (f) AEROLOGIST
— (g) ANGIOLOGIST
— (h) OPHIOLOGIST
— (i) DERMATOLOGIST
— (j) SEMEIOLOGIST
— (k) HELMINTHOLO-
GIST
— (1) ETIOLOGIST
— (m) PNEUIVIATOLOG^ST
— (n) GEOMORPHOL-
OGIST
— (o) HYDROMETEOROL-
OGIST
— (p) PSYCHOPATHOLO-
GIST
— (q) GLOTTOLOGIST
— (r) CETOLOGIST
— (s) HYDROLOGIST
— (t) OPATHALMOLOGIST
— (u) CRANIOLOGIST
— (v) HISTOLOGIST
— (w) CONCHOLOGIST
— (x) SOCIOLOGIST
— (y) OSTEOLOGIST
(You’ll find the answers on Page 109)
This little pastiche can l>e
sung to the tune of “The
Flowers That Bloom in the
Spring”, if you repeat the
last three lines of each
stanza.
It’s All How You Look At* It
by ISAAC ASIMOV
! The Sputniks that fly in the sky, tra la,
' Bring promise of space-flight quite soon.
\ It’s plain that the rockets will try, tra la.
With burning and whooshing to hie, tra la,
' To a quick rendezvous on the Moon —
' To a quick rendezvous on the Moon.
' And that’s why excitedly all of us cry.
Just think of the Sputniks that fly in the sky,
! Just think of the Sputniks —
I Just think of the Sputniks —
I The Sputniks that fly in the sky.
J The Sputniks that fly in the sky, tra la,
’ Are stealing our very best plot.
I ' I As on through the vacuum they ply, tra la,
' I With space-flight as easy as pie, tra la,
I I S. F. will be going to pot — •
I S. F. will be going to fx)t.
j And that’s why we dolefully whimper and sigh.
We’ll sue those damn Sputniks that fly in the sky,
! I We’ll sue those damn Sputniks —
' We’ll sue those damn Sputniks —
I The Sputniks that fly in the sky.
50
Man’s conquest of space had just started, before the aliens came to
Earth...
THE VARIABLE
COXSTAiXT
Novelet by RUSS WINTERBOTHAM
Out of space came the Beorhi, to rule Earth and its peoples,
guided by the device they called “The Instrument”. Now,
several generations laler, the long-foreseen crisis had aris-
en; and not only Gerd Thane, but also Alciar, Febris, and
Charis Ryna were expected to play the roles they would
now perform. But a machine that can give first-order pre-
dictions can only prophesy so much; and the probabilities
that the Instrument stated did not include the unpredict-
able human element.
51
52
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
MAX CLOTHED in
black tunic and panta-
loons, with a close-fit-
ting skull-cap on his head,
touched Gerd Thane’s arm. “If
you’re through, come with
me.”
Thane looked up and saw
the silver seal of the Beorhi
suspended by a chain on the
man’s chest. He saw the deep-
set eyes and the narrow counte-
nance of Acair, the Chief of
Police.
Thane realized this might
well be his last day on earth.
He stood up, clicked his
heels and bowed, as prescribed
for everyone in the presence of
an official who wore the Silver
Seal.
“Febris has sent word that
I am to come immediately to
his office.” Thane reached into
his pocket and pulled out a slip
of paper on which the order
was written.
Acair glanced at the signa-
ture. “Febris be damned. Come
with me.”
“I must pick up my tools,”
^said Thane. He leaned over
and started putting them in his
bag.
Acair’s foot shot out, kicking
the bag out of Thane’s hands
and sending it across the room.
It struck a worker, who did not
seem to notice.
None of the workers seemed
to notice what was going on,
and there were many in the
factory! where Thane had been
making repairs. They stood
with lusterless eyes, staring va-
cantly at the machines in front
of them. Their ears had grown
accustomed to the whine and
the whir, the clang and the
clatter, and that they no longer
heard the din. Every sense was
conditioned to the task.
It was not all conditioning.
Thane knew that part of it was
heredity. For six hundred
years, human beings had been
bred selectively by their over-
lords, the Beorhi. Now most
people were rubber stamps of
what the Beorhi considered
prime man — men who caused
no trouble, who had no inde-
pendent thoughts, and who did
exactly as they were taught
and told to do.
'yHAXE, HOWEVER, was
different. He was a throw-
back, one of the few permitted
to live on the face of the earth.
Most throwbacks were liqui-
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
dated as soon as tests proved
they would not conform to the
master plan; but some were
placed in government posi-
tions. Acair, himself, was one
of these — a man needed to spy
on other throwbacks, and to
carry out the orders of the
Beorhi.
A few like Thane were need-
ed for special occupations —
such as electronics, in which
Gerd Thane was a master tech-
nician. These few were isolated
in fact and in theory. They
were not p>ermitted to have
friends; they could not marry,
and they were restricted to cer-
tain quarters of the city.
Thane stood up trying to re-
strain his anger. He was near
death, he believed. Acair had
suddenly decided that Thane’s
usefulness was ended — or at
least so it seemed. Thane won-
dered why Acair bothered to
make the arrest himself; he
wasn’t sent to dirty his own
hands with such jobs.
But suddenly and inexplic-
ably Acair’s manner softened.
“You will never need your
tools again, Gerd Thane, and
you have nothing to fear. From
this moment on, you will enjoy
the privileges of an officer of
53
the government, a servant of
the Beorhi.”
Thane shook his long black
locks, and looked down at
Acair — for he was fully a head
taller than the frail, sharpy-
faced police officer. “Is this
why Febris wanted to see me?”
Acair seemed amused. “In a
manner of spyeaking. Later, I’ll
tell him why you didn’t keep
your appointment. Come on.
Long Haired One; my business
is urgent.”
'yHANE FOLLOWED, half-
smiling at the reference to
his hair. For months Gerd
Thane had spent money for
books instead of haircuts.
Books were rare, and generally
forbidden; most of them were
very old, dating back to the
Twentieth Century, eight hun-
dred years gone, and two hun-
dred years before the Beorhi
came out of space to become
Overlords of the Earth.
Acair led his companion to
an underground conveyor belt
which whisked them to the Pal-
ace. They steppyed off the belt
and entered a long, wide tun-
nel which ended in front of a
bank of revolving doors, guard-
ed by pyolice in green uniforms.
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
The officers saluted the Sil-
ver Seal worn by Acair, and
stood at attention till he
passed. Acair plodded straight
ahead, past the public eleva-
tors to a private car in the
back. They went up many
floors and got off in a large
square chamber.
On all sides of the room were
doors; and in front of each
stood a man in the red tunic
and blue pantaloons of the
Royal Guard. Each of these
was armed with a heavy Serv-
ice revolver, but as Acair
stepped from the elevator they
clicked their heels and bowed.
Then one opened a door and
stood aside as .\cair led Thane
into his private office.
At first Thane thought the
wall on the far side of the room
was alive; then he realized it
was divided into four large
television screens on which
were lifelike figures. Each
screen showed some govern-
ment activity. One covered the
spaceport; another revealed
planetary defense units, with
space-narks ready to defend
Earth from interstellar attack;
others showed offices, with im-
portant figures going about
their business.
There was no sound, but
each picture was in color.
“Sit down,” said Acair, still
watching Thane with amuse-
ment.
'^HE YOUNG man sat, still
watching the screens.
“Interesting, isn’t it? These
are monitor screens of the Pal-
ace circuit. Rhys controls them
directly from his study, and he
changes the scenes by pressing
buttons like these.” Acair
pointed to a panel at his left.
“It is rather confusing with-
out sound.”
“Oh, the sound’s there,” said
Acair, touching a red button.
Instantly, one of the pictures
grew brighter. Gerd Thane saw
that it was the defense setup.
A colonel in the foreground
was giving orders to his men,
who went through the opera-
tion of loading a space-nark
and adjusting its aim.
“Colonel!”
The colonel broke off and
turned, facing the camera, at
the sound of Acair’s voice. He
saluted immediately as he saw
the official’s face in a monitor
at his end. “Yes, sir!”
“How long have you been
on camera?’'
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
55
“More than two hours, sir,
and it is very trying. Some^of
our men are camera-shy and
they make the damnedest mis-
takes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said
Acair. “I don’t think Rhys is
watching.” He switched off the
sound by releasing the button,
then turned to Thane. “Rhys
usually looks at about a score
of pictures a minute; but now
the scenes aren’t changing,
which is a pretty good sign he’s
not watching.”
“You can’t control them?”
“No, and it’s not very help-
ful to me,” said Acair. “Every-
one knows when he’s on cam-
era, and nobody’s goiijg to do
anything that will get himself
in trouble. \\Tien we want to
pin something on somebody,
W'e olant an undercover opera-
tor.”
'T'HANE WATCHED the
picture until he heard
Acair's voice again. “There
may be an explanation as to
why Rhys is not watching; he
may be ill.”
Thane turned his eyes from
the scene. “I hope his majesty’s
illness is not serious.”
Acair laughed. “Don’t give
me that. You’re a throwback,
one of the few capable of hat-
ing Rhys and every other Beo-
rhus on Earth. You’d be
pleased as a fat hog if every
last one died.”
Thane couldn’t help feeling
shocked at words he had nev-
er heard spoken aloud, for all
that they expressed his
thoughts exactly. Acair must
be very sure of himself.
“Don’t worry, tad,” said
Acair. “I’m not trying to trick
you. Now tell me; have you
heard about the epidemic?”
“Epidemic? . , . What epi-
demic?”
“I guess our isolation of
throwbacks is gossip-proof if
you haven't heard it. W^ell . . .
very few know about it, outside
of some high officials. .An epi-
demic has done what we human
beings haven’t been able to do
for six hundred years; it’s got-
ten the besl of the Beorhi.”
Thane’s eyes widened, but
he said nothing.
“It is time now for earth-
lings to strike if they want in-
dependence,” said .Acair. “I’m
not talking about these dull-
eyed pigs who don’t even know
they’re aliv’e. I’m speaking of
throwbacks, like you and me.”
56
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
'T^HE MAN was talking revo-
lution, and Thane was in
favor of it — ^he had nothing to
lose. But he wished that he had
someone other than Acair to
plot with. Someone he trusted.
“Here’s the situation,” Acair
went on. “About three years
ago a Beorhus living in Austra-
lia came down with an illness
completely strange to them;
and at first, it was thought it
was something he’d caught
from earthlings. But our
medics couldn’t diagnose it,
either. It’s a horrible infection;
it’s like gangrene, but it’s Beo-
rhi gangrene and it’s conta-
gious.”
“Oh!” said Thane.
“Don’t be alarmed; it
doesn’t attack earthlings . . .
The first Beorhus died; so did
the second. In three years, the
whole race has been wiped
out — except for one. — Twenty
thousand of these caricatures
of human beings, who come
from God knows where, have
been wiped out.”
Thane felt alive, really alive.
It was as if some great weight
had been lifted from his shoul-
ders.
“The one survivor,” con-
tinued Acair, “is Rhys XXVII,
V
the Big Boss of our planet.
And he alone knows the secret
that made his race the rulers of
mankind. How long he’ll escape
is only a question of time;
sooner or later, he’ll succumb
to the disease. When this hap-
pens, we must seize The In-
strument.”
yHE INSTRUMENT. Gerd
Thane often had wondered
what it was, but neither he nor
any other man — not even
Acair, or Febris, the Adviser —
knew how it operated, or what
it was. All that was known was
that this machine had enabled
fewer than 100 Beorhi — who
landed on Earth six hundred
years ago — to conquer the
planet.
The first Beorhi pilgrims
had been welcomed by space-
conscious earthlings. They
were received as friends and
scientists, lavishly entertained,
and presented with the highest
honors, giving mankind a few
spectacular gadgets in ex-
change. It was much the same
as the Europeans trading glass
beads for Indian land.
Then by intrigues, and care-
fully-calculated coups, the fox
put his nose into the hen
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
57
house; and it was only a mat-
ter of time before he was able
to squeeze in his entire body.
Human beings found them-
selves second class citizens on
their own planet. The conquest
was not entirely bloodless, but
the Beorhi operated so smooth-
ly that Man was scarcely
aware of the change. And it
was done with The Instrument.
“Seize it?” Thane asked.
“Best destroy it.”
“Don’t be dense,” replied
Acair. “Someone must rule the
Earth after the Beorhi die.
Better us than someone else —
like Febris.”
“I won’t help you,” Thane
said.
“Choose your words care-
fully, friend. I can make things
very uncomfortable for you. If
you are counting on help from
Febris. . .”
“Febris is no patron of
mine.”
“Even if he were, I’m not
sure he could help you.” Acair
looked sharply at the young
man. As head of the police, he
had ciccess to records which
showed exactly what kind of
a person Gerd Thane was. The
Beorhi had ways of working
these things out. Perhaps The
Instrument could measure a
man’s character. This must
have been how the conquest
was done — the Beorhi knew in
advance just what human re-
action to expect to any move
they made. They had Studied
men’s weaknesses, learned how
humans could be bribed, co-
erced and flattered arranging
man’s downfall.
•yHANE HAD read in his
books that one of the an-
'cient sages of mankind had
shown that those who enslaved
were the greatest slaves. He
was not sure of the exact word-
ing, but this was the thought.
“I’ll have no part in taking the
place of the Beorhi,” he said.
“Think of what you’re say-
ing!”
“I’ve already tho'’eht it out.
Throw me in prison — do what
you will. If the Peorhi have
conquered the wor*!d w’ith some
sort of special p':’chine, or
some new weapon. I won’t help
you learn to use it.”
“What are you '■^’nng?”
“Simply that if freedom is
within man’s grasp I’m not go-
ing to help it get r/v’y.”
/k C.\IR WAS tre— 'bV’ng with
anger, but h? restrained
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
58
himself. “Be sensible,” he said.
“You have everything to gain
and nothing to lose. Certainly,
there won’t be much change in
the world, but your own indi-
vidual fortune will be much
better. You will be the most
wealthy, the most F>owerful
man on Earth, except for my-
self. You will have special
privileges — the privileges the
Beorhi enjoy now. . .”
“The privilege of sending
men to their doom, I suppose.”
“Bah! Why should you care'
what happens to other men?
Think how much better off
you’ll be.”
“I don’t think any amount
of comfort will erase the
knowledge of what I’m doing
to others,” said Thane. “You
see, I’ve been an underdog too
long.”
Acair clenched his fist. “One
last chance. Remember, you
may regret your decision if it’s
the wrong one. I can make you
suffer considerably. . .”
“Not half as much as I’d
suffer making the decision you
think is right. Go ahead. Do
your worst.”
“I will.” Acair touched a
buzzer and the door swung
open. A uniformed guard, look-
ing smart except for his dull
eyes, stepped in and saluted.
“Put this man under arrest,”
Acair said. “For treason.”
The guard stepped forward
and snapped handcuffs on
Gerd Thane’s wrists.
“At least,” said Thane, “I’ll
get a hair cut while T’m in
jail.”
II
E lsewhere in the
Palace of the Beorhi at
that time, Cort Febris,
Adviser to Rhys XXVII, had
just entered the Royal Bed-
room. Febris closed the gold-
studded door behind him, took
a short step forward, halted
and tried to click his heels; but
his legs were too fat — he
bowed.
“Forget that infernal non-
sense, Febris,” came a brittle
voice from the bed. “I’m too
sick for that foolishness.”
The Adviser did not stop; it
was' unthinkable to his condi-
tioning that even he should en-
ter the bedchamber of Rhys
XXVII without executing the
triple bow. Rhys did not wear
the Gold Seal of his office, but
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
59
it was imprinted on the canopy
above the bed.
The third bow. ‘T’m dying,”
said Rhys harshly, “and you
stand there gyrating like a slat
on a hinge. Or, I should say,
like a barrel on a hinge.”
“I do as your ancestors or-
dained,’’ said Febris solemnly,
“Curse you. Curse my ances-
tors. Curse Rhys the Great for
bringing our seed to this in-
fernal planet.”
Febris paled, unaccustomed
as he was to hearing the sacred
ancestors cursed. He went to
the bedside. The covers out-
lined the frail, twisted body.
Rhys looked small, thin, and
even less human than usual.
His long arms looked like thin
rods, with the skin stretched
tightly over them. Beneath the
leathery skin, Febris saw the
throbbing pale green veins and
cord-like muscles. Rhys’ large
oval head, much larger at the
top than at the bottom, was
sunk deep into the pillow. It
was bald. A long hooked nose,
a tiny chin, and a fish-like
mouth. Two large liquid eyes
seemed to dominate the face.
They were brown and like
man’s, e.xceot that they moved
independently: and sometimes
one eye looked down while the
other looked up. '
“I have caught the conta-
gion,” said Rhys. “I, the last
Beorhus, am dying.”
■pEBRIS pulled down the
covers and looked at the
shrunken body. The symptoms
were there — the great black
spotches on the yellow’sh skin,
like over-ripe spots on a ba-
nana.
“I’ll give you the drugs,”
said Febris.
“They have all been tried,”
said Rhys. “There is no cure.
I have even used the Great In-
strument, but to no avail. All
I know is that, during the six
hundred years my race has
been on your planet, a chemi-
cal change has been taking
place in our bodies. As a re-
sult, we have become suscepti-
ble to a virus. The disease has
a way of appearing suddenly
and inexplicably. Perhaps if it
had been slower in manifest-
ing itself, we might have found
time to cure it. But it is too
late for that now; in twenty-
four hours I’ll be dead^' an'I
there are many things to do.’’
“.\ye,” said Febris. . “In-
deed, things must be done.”
60
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
Rhys’ long arms reached out
feebly and pulled the covers
back over his chest.
“You do not know whence
the Beorhi came, and it is not
important. It is enough to tell
you that it is far from your
sun, and there are many of us
still living on the planet of our
origin. Special ultra-dimension
navigational factors made it
{wssible for us to reach Earth
in a few months, but the return
trip requires years. Communi-
cation by electronic methods is
virtually impossible — not only
from a standpoint of power,
but because of the many years
a message must travel before
reaching its destination.
aOOME YEARS ago, dur-
^ ing the reign of my fath-
er, Rhys XXVI, a messenger
was dispatched, giving an ac-
count of our colony here on
the earth.” Rhys paused and
looked reflectively at Febris,
wondering if the earthman re-
alized the full import of the
message.
“I have calculated the time
needed for the journey, and I
had reason to expoct the mes-
senger’s return during my
reign. Along with him may
come a new expedition of Beo-
rhi to join us here.” Again he
paused.
“I trust they will not come
now,” said Febris; “they may
catch the virus.”
“I’m not afraid of that.
Since my race required six hun-
dred years to become suscepti-
ble, the new colonists will be
safe for a time. Before the dan-
ger point comes, weTl have a
cure.”
“Have you any idea when
the Beorhi will arrive?”
“It may be tomorrow, or it
may be next year,” said Rhys;
“but it will not be too far in
the future. However, the fact
remains that neither myself
nor any of my kin will be alive
to see them.” Rhys was won-
dering about the strange light
in Febris’ eyes; he had never
seen the little fat man so excit-
ed before.
“Men of Earth will receive
them gladly,” Febris declared
solemnly.
“They will scarcely notice.
Through the centuries we have
bred initiative out of the race
of man, except for a few throw-
backs, such as you and Acair.
A certain amount of initiative
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
61
is needed to conduct our af-
fairs, and we can trust men like
you to carry out our orders.
All of you know that you are
better off under us than you’d
be without us. The rest of the
earthlings are dead — except in
the matter of chemical reac-
tions inside their body. They
have no hope, no ambition, no
initiative. They do not think
of tomorrow, and 'as long as
they are fed regularly, they are
happy. We have domesticated
man,”
T>HYS PLUCKED at his
^ cover. “I hop>e that I can
keep death away for twenty-
four hours; there is much to
be done.”
Febris shook his head. “You
are far too weak to do any-
thing, sir. Even if you can
maintain life within your body,
you cannot move; the disease
robs you of strength.”
Rhys’ large eyes seemed to
glaze. Febris had seen many of
the Beorhi die of this disease;
he knew that Rhys would soon
be utterly helpless. The ruler
could talk, of course, but his
long arms would be unable to
touch the alarm device at the
side of his bed.
“At this moment,” said
Rhys, “I am the only living
creature on Earth who knows
the secret of our pwwer. It must
be preserved for the Beorhi
who are coming here.” he
gazed up at the earthman.
“You, Febris, 'are a horrible -
thing in which to place the
trust of a Beorhus!”
Febris bowed as if it v/ere
a compliment, “Sir, your trust
could not be placed in better
hands.”
“I know you!” exclaimed
Rhys. “A slimy, hand-licking '
sycophant. But at that, you’re
the qnly earthling that I know
will do as I say. You don’t dare
do otherwise than serve the
Beorhi — your own kind would
tear you into small cube steaks
and feed you to the dogs!
You’re the most hated man on
Earth, Febris; don’t forget
that. Even men who know
nothing, and cannot think,
would like to see you dead.
Their souls know that through
you, and your kind, they have
been thrust into ignorance and
slavery!”
“What I have done,” said
Febris, “was through loyalty
to the greatest creatures in cre-
ation, sir.” His face was pale.
62
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
|>HYS CONTINUED, with-
out taking notice of his re-
mark. “Below the Palace, is a
secret room. In that room is
The Instrument; it is like a
machine, yet different. It does
not act, it tells you how you
should act. It can kill the spirit
in a human being by exposing
his vulnerability. One of your
leaders once said that there
were greater dangers than that
which merely kills the body —
and he could have been talking
about The Instrument.
“In an envelope under my
pillow is a set of instructions
on how to operate the machine,
as well as questions, written in
mathematical form, for it to
answer. Take these instruc-
tions; use the secret passages
to avoid being halted by
.^cair’s guards; and enter this
subterranean chamber without
being seen. Operate the ma-
chine as I have set forth in my
instructions. Get the answers
and bring them here to me. I
will then give you orders for
your course of action after I
am dead.”
The eyes of the little fat
man grew bright with excite-
ment. “I would do as you say,
sir, except for one thing.”
The dying ruler’s eyes grew
more cloudy. “Have I over-
looked something, Febris?”
“Alas, my lord, my re-
ward!”
Rhys tried to stir, but he
was too weak to rise from his
pillow. “I can give you a re-
ward — I’ll turn you over to
Acair!”
“I would not, sir, if I were
you,” said Febris, smiling. “He
might not be as good a risk as
I am to carry out your or-
ders.”
Rhys closed his eyes and
nodded; of the two, Acair was
less trustworthy. “What do
you want?”
“You say that perhaps a
year will elapse before the
Beorhi arrive. During that
time, someone must rule Earth
and keep your empire intact,
so the domain can be turned
over to your kind without
trouble. May I suggest, sir,
that you make me your heir —
to rein as Febris I?”
pOR A MOMENT, Rhys lay
as if stunned. Then his fish-
like mouth opened and laugh-
ter burst forth. “Make you
ruler? That is impossible. No
other earthling would accept
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
63
you; there is nothing about
you that isn’t duplicated over
and over throughout the
world.”
“If you make me your heir,
I would be an adopted son,”
said Febris, patiently. “That
would make me a Beorhus;
people are conditioned to re-
spect and obey the Beorhi.”
“I would sooner adopt an
ape.”
“Perhaps so, but you have
no other choice in the matter.
Either you’ll make me your
heir, or I’ll do nothing you
ask.”
“I’ll have you executed.”
Rhys tried to reach the alarm
bell, but he could not move his
hand.
“You can’t. Give me the
seal — your seal, made of gold.
Not the siver duplicates that
you pass out to Acair and oth-
ers.”
Rhys seemed to sink deeper
into his pillow. His glazed eyes
both shifted toward a desk on
the far side of the room. “It is
in that desk,” he whisp>ered.
“The key is around my neck.
God help me, there is no other
way.”
Febris reached down and
felt a thin gold chain hanging
around Rhys’ neck. He unfas-
tened the key and strode
across the room. He unlocked
the desk, found several draw-
ers inside.
“The second drawer on the
right,” said Rhys.
Febris op>ened the drawer
and drew forth the gold seal,
the insignia of the ruler of the
earth. He slipped it into his
p>ocket, and started to turn
away from the desk; then his
eyes fell on a slender letter-
opener lying in a pigeon hole.
He reached out and grasped it.
“It seems to me, Rhys Beo-
rhus, that there’s no more need
for you to stay alive.”
Rhys tried to scream, but his
voice was hardly as loud as the
chuckle that Febris gave in re-
ply. The Adviser went to the
bed without bowing, lifted the
letter-opener, and brought it
down on the pap>er-thin skull
of the dying niarf.
Febris held it there a mo-
ment. He watched the veins
underneath the skin, till they
ceased throbbing, then he with-
drew the sharp instrument.
Carefully he wiped away th’
pale green blood with his ban
kerchief and cleaned off th'
letter-of>ener.
64 FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
' He found some black sealing
wax, and filled the hole in the
skull. It looked like another
splotch of the deadly disease.
“No one will ask questions,”
he said. “It will be accepted as
a fact that Rhys XXVII died
of a virus.”
Ill
T he ELEV.\T0R con-
taining Gerd Thane and
the guard shot down-
ward toward the castle dun-
geons. The guard seemed not to
pay little attention; after all,
the prisoner was in handcuffs
and the guard was experienced
in handling prisoners.
None of them had ever
shown so much as a desire to
resist. This one, of course, had
eyes a little brighter, and he
carried himself a little straight-
er than most, but they were all
alike. What was the point of
resisting arrest, anyway? A
man couldn’t go far without
being asked to show an identi-
ty card, and anyone supposed-
ly under arrest would land
right back in the pokey before
nightfall. And the penalties for
escaping were something to
make a man think twice before
I he tried It.
Acair had not warned the
guard that Thane might take
desperate measures. He felt se-
cure in his own regulations,
that prevented anyone from
entering or leaving the Palace
without rigid checks.
And, of course, Acair had no
way of kimwing the elevator
would stop before it reached
the dungeon level.
The guard roused himself
from his semi-stupor as the
door opened. In it stood a
young woman, black-haired,
about nineteen or twenty, and
with charms that Thane re-
membered only from the pho-
tographs in the rare books he
had bought. Her eyes, further-
more, held none of the dullness
that marked so many of the fe-
males he saw so often on the
streets.
“You can’t get on,” the
guard told her. “This elevator
is being used for police busi-
ness.”
“Why not? Your prisoner is
wearing handcuffs, isn’t he?”
“Regulations forbid it.”
“Hang the regulations,” said
the girl. “I’m not going to wait
for another elevator.” She
stepped aboard.
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
'T'HE GUARD’S jaw dropped
almost to a forty-five de-
gree angle. He had to think for
a second or two before he
knew what to say. “Disregard-
ing regulations is a criminal of-
fense,” he reminded her. “I
shall have to arrest you, if you
don’t get off the elevator im-
mediately.”
“All right; arrest me.”
The guard frowned. There
was a complication here. “I
can’t; I have only one set' of
handcuffs.”
“Take them off the prisoner
and put them on me,” said the
girl. “Heavens to Beorhus,
must I tell an officer what to
do? I think I’d better report
you to Acair.”
The guard almost trembled.
“No! Please don’t do that,
miss!... You see, ma’am, if I
remove the handcuffs from my
prisoner, he might escape.”
“Close the elevator., door,”
she said. “Your prisoner can’t
get out if the door’s closed — •
not unless someone gets on, as
I did; and there’s really no
reason for anyone boarding a
down car at this- floor — the
conveyor level.”
“You got on.”
“I’m a social worker,” she
65
said. “I came to relieve suffer-
ing in the jail.”
I
'T^HE GUARD had never
heard of such a thing, but
it might be something new
some official had introduced.
The young woman seemed to
make sense. He could close the
door, arrest her, then start the
elevator and deliver both pris-
oners at the same time. He
wished he’d done more think-
ing in his life. He wasn’t used
to it. But it all seemed sound.
He unlocked Thane’s hand-
cuffs, and Gerd Thane swung
both hands upward even be-
fore the cuffs were removed
from his wrists. The blow
caught the guard on the jaw,
sent him reeling. His head hit
the metal wall of the car and
Thane struck again. That was
all.
The girl smiled at Thane.
“Let’s go,” she said. “We’ll
take another elevator up-
stairs.” She opened the door as
Thane removed the handcuffs.
She seemed to know what
she was doing; he followed her
to another elevator and
stepped in it. She touched a
button and sent it upward.
“I’m not sure I understand
66 . FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
why you’re doing this,” said
Thane.
“The most important thing
to understand is that you’re
better off than you were a few
moments ago,” she replied.
“En route to a dungeon for
treason, isn’t the best p>osition
there is.”
“I’ll agree to that. But who
are you and why did you do
this?”
“My name is Charis Ryna.
And the reason I’m doing it is
because my boss told me to.”
“Who is your boss?”
“The Adviser.” ,
“Febris?”
“Yes, but don’t let it throw
you. I found you only because
it was to everyone’s advantage
that you didn’t get locked up
in a dungeon. Right now,
you’re the most important
man I know of.”
UyHAT SEEMED to be
Acair’s idea too,” mused
Thane. “I wonder if Febris has
the same reason for thinking
so.”
“Yes, and so have other peo-
ple. Acair isn’t the only man
on the Earth with a police sys-
tem. Febris has been spying on
Acair for years and knows
every move he makes. He
knew that Acair pulled you off
the job in the factory and
brought you here. I expected
to have the pleasant opportu-
nity of rescuing you from
Acair, but all I got w'as a
chance to outsmart a dim-wit-
ted palace guard. It was really
too easy — it took practically
no talent at all.”
Thane, who had felt so elat-
ed at his escape a short time
before, now sighed. He had to
go through the whole business
again. “Really, Miss Ryna — or
is it Mrs. . .”
“Miss,” she said, “and let’s
not get strung out in some kind
of an argument. Acair would
have you in custody for only
one reason — that you refused
to do what he wanted to. It
stands to reason that if you
wouldn’t do what Acair asks,
Febris will have a difficult
time persuading you to do
what he wants you to do. Fe-
bris probably would wind up
last in any popularity contest
you can mention. Our problem
is to keep you out of a dun-
geon — and you’re bound to go
there by shouting your princi-
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
67
pies in the face of the most
jx)werful men on Earth.”
Thane was mystified. “You
mean I shouldn’t tell the
truth?”
“Don’t lie unless you have
to,” said Charis Ryna. “Hon-
esty is rare these days in peo-
ple who can think. But there’s
a lot more at stake than truth-
fulness, and Febris and .\cair
aren’t sparing perjury to gain
their ends.”
“I dislike treachery in oth-
ers; I don’t want to practice it
myself.”
“Admirable,” said the girl;
“but impractical. You’re valu-
able, Gerd Thane. Maybe you
don’t know it, but I do; I’ve
had my eyes omyou for a long
time.”
'^HERE W.\S truth in what
she said. Since her earliest
childhood she had been taught
to admire the characteristics
exhibited by this young man.
The Beorhi had arranged
this — why, she had not known
till recently, but the ways of
the Beorhi were strange.
“It seems as if everyone’s
had his eyes on me,” said
Thane.
“These are critical times.
The Beorhi are nearly extinct.
The only living one may soon
contact the disease, and then
we’ll have intrigue up to our
ears. Every little pipsqueak
that can have an independent
thought — and many who can
only half-think — will consider
himself a candidate for the
Gold Seal of authority the min-
ute that Rhys dies. But only
Febris and Acair are clever
enough to be feared. And both
of them have the morals of a
tapeworm, that’s why I’ve
picked you, Gerd, to be the
next ruler of Planet Earth.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” The elevator
stopped, but before she opened
the door, Thane caught her
arm and pulled her around to
face him. Her beauty left him
breathless. “Who are you real-
ly working for?”
She smiled and pulled away
from his grip. “For you, you
big ox; and since we’re going
to be through a lot of things, if
we last long enough, stop call-
ing me Miss Ryna and call me
Charis.”
“All right, if you’ll call me
Gerd.”
68
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
She reached up and patted
his cheek. “That’s just fine,
Gerd. Now let’s go see my
boss-in-name-only.”
IV
> EBRIS did not an-
nounce the death of
Rhys XXVII. He had
much more important things
to do; besides, he felt it would
be much better if someone else
made the discovery. Just in
case an inquisitive mind — of
which there were still a few on
Earth these days — might find
that a black spot on the dead
emperor’s skull was sealing
wax and not the product of
deadly disease.
He used Rhys’ own private
elevator to descend to the se-
cret room. The papers under
Rhys’ pillow had contained
full instructions on how to get
to the room, but he was not
prepared for what he found
there.
The room was large, possi-
bly a hundred feet long and fif-
ty feet wide, and one entire
side was taken up with the
largest electronic machine he
had ever seen.
Febris had known that The
Instrument was electronic. By
deduction, and by unguarded
remarks, he had learned that
somehow a huge electronic
brain had managed to keep
earthlings in subjugation for
six hundred years. He had not
the vaguest idea how it was
done; but he did know that
Rhys made regular visits to
this secret room — and imme-
diately thereafter, certain new
laws appeared and old ones
were abrogated.
He knew, too, that before
any couple could be married,
applications had to be rnade
through the Beorhi. Right
now, stacks of punched cards
lay in baskets which were be-
ing fed mechanically through
one unit of, the machine. Elec-
tronics would decide what
couples could marry to develop
a race incapable of independ-
ent thought — but even elec-
tronics was not infallible in
predicting the results of mat-
ing. Most unions turned out
satisfactory to the Beorhi, but
Mendelian upsets sometimes
took unusual turns. The result
was throwbacks, such as Fe-
bris himself.
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
69
Parsimoniously, the Beorhi
had found uses for these
throwbacks; they knew that
most of them would see the
advantages of bending to the
will of the masters, if they
were granted certain privileges.
Whenever a throwback was
discovered, he was presented
with a choice — death or serv-
ice against his kind. Once in a
while, a throwback was over-
looked. Gerd Thane was not
the first — he was only the first
to be of any importance. And
Febris wanted him.
ipROM HIS pocket, Febris
pulled the written instruc-
tions. He went to a keyboard
and slowly and carefully typ>ed
out the rows of figures on the
paper. Lights blinked and the
machine whirred; presently an
automatic typewriter began
clicking. Out came a sheet cov-
ered with figures.
Febris looked at them blank-
ly. What did they mean? he
knew nothing of mathematics,
and the answer meant nothing
to him. Yet, somewhere among
those rows of symbols was the
answer to everything he want-
ed to know: how to rule Earth
until the Beorhi came.
While the information was
valuable, it was not what Fe-
bris really wanted to know. He
believed that the machine, like
all machines, did what it’s
operator geared it to do. He
was not interested in turning
Earth over to the Beorhi
again; he had The Instrument
in his hands, and by merely
moving his fingers in a certain
way across the keyboard, he
would know what steps to
take. But he did not know how
to move his fingers.
Febris frowned, shoved the
sheet of paper into the pocket
of his tunic, then boarded the
elevator. Before it reached
Rhys’ private chambers, he got
off, and went to his own of-
fice.
Special Agent Ryna and
Gerd Thane were there wait-
ing.
V
T he great fleet of
monstrous* space ships
went through the com-
plicated maneuver that jerked
it out of hyperspxace at the rim
of the solar system.
Admiral Vacana of the Beo-
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
70
rhi summoned Vitti Rhys, the
courier who had brought the
message to the home universe.
“There are nine planets,” he
said. “Which is ours?”
“The third, sir, but it is
scarcely visible from here,
since it lies so near the sun.”
“Is it within communication
range?”
“Not with the power we
have. However, cosmic ray os-
cillation can be brought in very
faintly.”
The admiral phoned to the
communications center. He
waited patiently for an hour,
then he called again.
“Sorry, sir,” said the opera-
tor. “I’ve signaled repeatedly,
but get no reply.”
“Cosmic ray signals are very
difficult to deal with,” said the
admiral. “We’ll try at closer
range.”
VI
C HARIS RYNA and
Gerd Thane had come
directly to Febris’ of-
fice. Here in a soundproofed
room, which Febris was per-
mitted to use for his private
business of Palace Adviser,
they had made plans.
It was all well and good for
Thane to stand by his princi-
ples and refuse to put an in-
strument of power into the
hands of men like Acair and
Febris, said Charis. However,
deception woud be better than
an open stand of incorruptibili-
ty. Neither Febris nor Acair
would hesitate to apply tor-
ture.
“If you’re going to help any-
one, you’ve got to stay alive
and healthy,” she said.
Charis knew only a little
more about The Instrument
than Thane himself. Even Fe-
bris and Acair only guessed
how the Beorhi used it to con-
trol the earth. It was electron-
ic; that much she knew. “I’ve
heard that it has the powers of
prophecy,” she said, “but I
greatly doubt if a machine
could ever be built that would
correctly foretell the future.”
TTHE BEORHI had guarded
The Instrument from all
earthmen. Only a member of
the master race could operate
it, and it was hidden in a se-
cret room of the palace. If
Thane were permitted to work
on The Instrument, he must
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
71
stall sufficiently to prevent Fe-
bris from learning its secret —
and, instead, learn how to ma-
nipulate it to protect earth-
lings from their enemies.
Thane accepted only the
suggestions from Charis with
reservations. He agreed that he
must use deception. While he
found Charis charming, and
admitted to himself that he
had never seen a woman so full
of beauty, and so delightful to
talk to, he noticed that she
had said nothing about her own
motives.
She admitted she had been
ordered to rescue Thane from
Acair, but at the same time she
had told him that this was not
the sole reason for the risks
she had taken. And her hints
at a plan which included out-
witting Febris himself, suggest-
ed personal motives. Was she
another copy from the ambi-
tious mold which had cast Fe-
bris and Acair? Did Charis
Ryna wish to rule the Earth?
Was she working for a third
megalomaniac?
Thane wondered if there
were anyone on this planet he
could trust.
But even as he asked him-
self this question, he knew that
he was falling in love with
Charis Ryna. No matter how
overpowering the weapon of
the Beorhi was to earthlings in
general, he saw that Charis
was a far greater threat to
Gerd Thane. Before he knew
it, Thane held her in his arms.
A LL THIS was interrupted
as Febris stepped into the
office and saw Thane embrac-
ing the girl.
“What in the devil? Is this
the only way you could get
him here?”
Febris was not angry. The
despair he had felt, because he
had not been able to operate
The Instrument, had vanished
at the sight of the man he
knew to be a wizard at elec-
tronics.
Thane and the girl parted
suddenly. “It was my own
idea, sir,” he said. “However,
I make no apologies; I love
her. Had I known before that
you had such a beautiful as-
sistant, it would have been un-
necessary to send her to fetch
me. I should have come here
of my own accord.”
Febris chuckled, and turned
72
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
,to Charis, who blushingly ad-
justed her slightly ruffled hair.
“He hasn’t aligned himself
with Acair?”
“No, sir,” said Charis.
“Acair, you know, was quite
niggardly and thought he could
bluff Thane into doing without
reward what he had in mind.
When Thane stood up for his
rights, x\cair ordered him to the
dungeons. Fortunately I
stepped in at the right time,
and the guard will have some
explanations to make when he
recovers from what happened
to him.”
Febris laughed loudly; he
was in good humor now. “Sit
down, Gerd Thane. I’m sorry,
Charis, but I must talk to this
young man alone. Later, you
two will be together again.” He
turned and gave Thane a sly
wink.
“I understand,” said Cha-
ris. She walked to the door, she
turned and gave Thane a smile
as she went out. Thane hoped
that she was not a third con-
testant for world p>ower; if she
was, he was a prisoner with less
hope of escape than if he had
been placed in Acair’s deepest
dungeon.
TpEBRIS took a chair beside
Thane and related his expe-
rience with the electronic
brain. As he talked, the mys-
tery of The Instrument seemed
to clear slightly for Thane.
“The principle behind such
electronic machines,” he said,
“is that nearly anything can be
translated into mathematical
values. If The Beorhi found a
way to evaluate human
strength and weakness, and
feed the figures and symbols
into the machine, it would be
a simple matter for them to
reach an almost infallible
jnethod for conquest of man-
kind.”
“But wouldn’t it require a
great deal of study and re-
search?”
“It would, Febris, but this
study itself could be done part-
ly with The Instrument, which
can calculate in a few seconds
what hundreds of men might
require centuries to do. Fur-
thermore, you rnust remember
that when the Beorhi arrived
on Earth, they were received as
friends. Earthmen shared their
knowledge, never suspecting
what these beings planned. If
that sounds incredible, you
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
73
have to remember that they
took their time — and The In-
strument showed them how to
move without arousing sus-
picion, even as they were gath-
ering the information they
needed.
Febris cleared his throat.
‘‘They had their reasons, of
course.”
“Could a man have done the
same thing?” Febris asked af-
ter a pause.
“An ape could have done it,
if he had the ability to follow
the strategy outlined by The
Instrument.”
PEBRIS pondered a moment;
he sensed that this young
man must be handled careful-
ly. “If 'Rhys dies, which is
quite likely that he will, a hu^
man beiifg must become his
successor. Man has retro-
gressed considerably in six
hundred years, and it would
require a great deal of planning
to put our race back on the lev-
el of pre-conquest times. Could
The Instrument be used for
this?”
“Indeed it could, sir,” said
Thane. “What was done by
The Instrument can be undone
by the same agency.”
“Ah! And an electronic wiz-
ard, such as you, might learn
how to operate this marvelous
invention, eh?”
“Perhaps I could sir,” said
Thane, struggling to hide his
feelings. The very words of Fe-
bris, no matter how phrased,
carried overtones of ambition.
“Then do it,” said Febris,
“I will lead you to the Instru-
ment.”
“Sir,” said Thane, “I am
only human. Don’t you suf>-
pose that the Beorhi have safe-
guarded this electronic brain,
so that their slaves can’t use
it?”
Febris stood up. “I have
news for you, young man,” he
said. “The race of Beorhi no
longer is- a threat to humanity.
All of them, save one, have
died of a plague that does not
affect men but which is fatal
to these men from space. The
one survivor, Rhys, himself,
contracted the disease. On his
deathbed, less than two hours
ago, he made me his heir; he
adopted me as a son — making
me a member of the Beorhi
race in every respect possible — ■
by decree. Of course,” and he
smiled, “he could not alter my
physical construction. But I
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
74
have been with the Beorhi so
long that I think as they do, I
know their manner of life. I am
one of them.”
From his pocket Febris pro-
duced the Gold Seal.
'yHANE SPRANG to his
feet, so conditioned was he
,0 the royal insignia. He exe-
cuted a triple bow from sheer
force of habit. It is hard for a
man to rid himself of a lifelong
custom, even when he knows it
is wrong.
“Then j^ou will inherit the
earth, your excellency?” Thane
asked.
“Indeed I will,” said Febris.
“Poor Rhys, however, is too
weak to corjifide the secrets of
The Instrument to me. Perhaps
be senses that, although roy-
.’1 decree has made me a Beo-
rhi, I am still human inside —
and that with his death, man-
kind will end six hundred years
of subjection. However, the
change must be gradual so that
our brethren can assimilate it.”
The hypocrite! thought
Thane. “And you want me to
fathom the secrets of The In-
strument for this guidance?”
“That is correct. And, I
might add, you will be amply
rewarded. I am not blind; I
know love when I see it. When
you disclose the underlying
principle of power embedded
in The Instrument, you' will be
wedded to Charis Ryna.”
Febris knew, a few things
about manipulating human
weakness — if love was a weak-
ness — Thane decided. But
Gerd Thane had made his own
resolution before he met Fe-
bris. No matter what hap-
pened, Thane was resolved on
his course of action — so far as
Charis was concerned. How-
ever, he did his best to appear
eager. “That is generous of
you, sir,” he said..-
“And now, since Rhys may
die any moment, we should go
at once to the secret room.
Rhys gave me the instruc-
tions for reaching it, and a
rather vague description of
how to operate the machine.
He neglected to tell me how to
interpret the results; which is
vastly different from mere
operation. That is why I need
your help.”
“I see no hurry before Rhys
dies.”
“He will be dead very
THE VARIABLE CONSTANl
75
soon,” s^d Febris; “possibly
he is gone now. We must take
over the reins of government
immediately, before a man like
Acair can bring about a coup
d’etat”
Thane nodded slowly. There
was no way he could stall long-
er. “I think you’re right. Let’s
see the electronic brain.”
Febris led the way through
a maze of palace passages,
through secret doors to a for-
bidden part of the building.
VII
A cair examined
the body of the dead
Beorhi emperor. He
saw that the Beorhus had been
afflicted with the plague, and
he noted also that Rhys’ death
was the result of something
else. Febris’ attempt to hide
the wound in the being’s skull
would have deceived an ordi-
nary earthling, but not a
throwback.
However, Acair did not
make his discovery public.
There was ample time for that,
and this knowledge could be a
handy lever to use against his
rival.
Instead, Acair made a search
for the royal seal. He did not
know where it was kept, but
he suspected that it was gone;
and if it was gone, the man
who murdered Rhys had it.
He found something else,
which was just as important. It
was a book which contained a
diagram of the Palace, a page
for each level. It showed secret
passages and the way , to a
chamber that was the most se-
cret of anything owned by the
Beorhi — the room of The In-
strument. Apparently, Febris
had not known about this; and
if Acair got there first, Febris
could have the seal.
“I want three dimensional,
color photographs of the
body,” Acair told one of his
men. “Then deliver the corpse
to the sepulchre.”
The man nodded and Acair
left. He went at once to Fe-
bris’ office. The girl Charis
Ryna was there, but Febris
was gone. She did not know
where her superior was.
“It seems to me, young lady,
that you owe me, some an-
swers,” Acair said.
Charis smiled sweetly. “An-
swers? I have very few items
76
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
that could possibly add to your
vast store of knowledge.”
“About three hours ago,”
said Acair, “I sent a prisoner
to the dungeons in company
with one of my men. This man,
a loyal soldier, was later found
in an elevator suffering from a
beating. He managed to give a
description of a girl who had
helped his prisoner escape. The
description fits you perfectly,
my dear.”
^HARIS smiled. “Perhaps
^ you’d better talk to Mr. Fe-
bris about it. I don’t know the
answer to this, and he will tell
you about my movements in
the past few hours.”
“I can’t wait to talk to him,”
said Acair. “You come with
me; you’re under arrest.”
“You’re forgetting that I
have immunity as a member of
the Adviser’s staff. If you want
to arrest me, talk to my boss.”
“Febris has very little pow-
er now. Rhys is dead.”
“Dead?” The girl stiffened.
If this was 'true, the war be-
tween Acair and Febris had be-
gun.
“Yes, dead,” said Acair.
“Come svith me!”
He reached down and seized
her wrist — then his eyes fell on
the desk blotter in front of her.
On it she had scribbled with a
pencil: “Gerd Thane”
Acair took a second look;
his mouth broke into a smile.
“I think that is evidence of
your complicity in Thane’s es-
cape. As well as the fact that
you think a great deal of him.”
Charis closed her lips tight-
ly-
“You need not answer that
question; 1 know the answer.
I also know that it would take
a stronger man than Gerd
Thane to resist your charms.”
“Gerd Thane will have noth-
ing to do with your conspiracy,
nor that of Febris,” she said.
“Why don’t you leave him
alone?”
“Because he knows some-
thing. He is an important man
because of his knowledge; and
you, my dear, will be the key
to unlock that knowledge.”
VIII
T he BEORHI fleet
was well within the or-
bit of Pluto when it re-
ceived the first message from
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT 77
the earth. It was a long mes-
sage, repeated over and over
and it came by gamma fre-
quency instead of radio, or
cosmic ray.
The words were phrased in
the old Beorhi tongue, quit^
different from the modern
language spx>ken on the home
planet today; but Admiral Va-
cana was well versed in the
classics and read it quite easi-
ly:
. . Deadly disease has
annihilated the race of
Beorhi on the third
planet of the solar sys-
tem. Our affairs have
been placed in order to
formula 495-238B, with
constants Y and Z
placed- in the ninth po-
sition and constant Q
multiplied to the power
of minus seven.
Our affairs are being
administered by The
Instrument under the
regency of an earthling
named Febris, whose
value is 6.7342 multi-
plied by pi, which is a
dangerous evaluation
but which offers the
best possibilities for
success under the for-
mula.
Febris, as his evalu-
ation will show, is un-
scrupulous and will un-
doubtedly attempt to
further his own ends.
His first step, according
to our mathematics, will
be to appropriate The
Instrument and use it
to rule the Earth. He
knows nothing of elec-
tronics, or of mathem-at-
ics, or of pur method of
evaluating intelligent
beings. He must enlist
an ally. For this pur-
pose, we have carefully
schooled a throwback
called Gerd Thane, for-
mula 376-772Y, pre-
tending to overlook
his qualifications as a
thinking creature.
Thane, as his formu-
la will show, is far more
dangerous in many
ways' than the relative-
ly slow-thinking Febris.
Furthermore, he is mo-
tivated by a variable
constant which make
his actions difficult to
predict. Ordinarily we
79
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
would have liquidated
this type upon discov-
ery, but several have
been placed in stock for
emergencies. To guard
against unpredictable
developments we have
also stocked a counter-
balance, 376-771-Z, a
female of almost identi-
cal type, which as you
know could be manipu-
lated so that she could
become his vulnerable
point. She is known as
Charis Ryna.
If Febris is success-
ful, vdhich is unlikely, in
using Thane to convert
The Instrument to his >
purpose you have noth-
ing to fear. Under the
formula he will rule
men with such tyranny
that by the time you
reach Earth, he will be
hated universally, and
the Beorhi will be wel-
comed as deliverers.
Yoti will lead a revolt
and put a new formula
into operation.
If, on the other hand,
Febris is unsuccessful,
you will face either
Gerd Thane or a man
named Acair, formula
9.5643 multiplied by pi.
Acair is as unprincipled
as Febris and much
more cunning. How-
ever, he can be ap-
proached and gov-
erned by guarantees,
and rather than to lead
a hopeless cause he will
turn over Earth to you.
If Thane is winner of
the final struggle for
supremacy, the variable
constant will come into
play and you may find
it necessary to deter-
mine the exact value of
this constant before
making your move. Ap-
proach Earth, with ex-
treme caution; do not
land unless you have
sufficient mathematical
odds to justify safety
and be prepared to
fight.
We' believe we have
• placed enough counter-
checks in opposition to
Thane to prevent h's
access to power. We
know that Febris and
Acair will use Cha-
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
79
ris Ryna to check
his moves. We urge
Thane’s destruction im-
mediately, through
whatever agency you
/ • may have, since his type
is extremely dangerous.
That is all.
Repeat message...
Deadly disease has an-
nihilated the race . . .
A DMIRAL VACANA read
the message through twice
and then looked up at old Vit-
ti, the messenger who had sum-
moned the Beorhi to Earth a
second time.
“Tell me about the earth-
lings,” he said. “Are they great
fighters?”
Vitti laughed depreciatingly.
“They are not. Dull and unin-
teresting beings, almost all of
them. They have lost the abili-
ty to think past the next meal;
a few determined Beorhi could
exterminate them.”
“The formulae for Gerd
Thane and Acair do not indi-
cate this.”
“You saw the specimens I
brought back from Earth, Ad-
miral. Do you think we have
much to fear from them.”
“No,” said the Admiral with
a grim smile, “not if they are
typical. However, Vitti, our
greatest scientists gave them
examinations much more com-
plete than the Beorhi on Earth
could have given them. There
has been progress in this di-
rection since the first pilgrims
made their trip. We found that,
as you say, these beings were
dull, almost incapable of inde-
pendent thought. But in spite
of this apparent stupidity,
there is a second brain, a sub-
conscious mind that has a great
deal to do with their actions.
Even though this second brain
seldom protrudes upon con-
scious thought, it may harbor a
character that is quite differ-
ent.”
“You think they may inex-
plicably react in some unfore-
seen manner?”
<<TNDEED, it is quite pos-
sible,” said the Admiral.
“There may be an instinctive
reaction that cannot be planned
against by our machines. This
variable may be the one that
the message refers to; and it
may be more apparent in this
Gerd Thane than others of his
80
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
kind. His entire existence may-
hinge on a certain sub-con-
scious desire that we do not un-
derstand.”
“You are making too much
out of something^ that may
cause us no trouble,” said Vitti.
“If this second brain is asleep,
it is unlikely to awaken or
cause us trouble.”
The Admiral nodded. /‘You
are probably quite right. Too
bad about our brethren. Do
you think the disease might in-
fect us?”
“Apparently the Beorhi do
not think so, or they would not
have urged us to land. How-
ever, we can determine the
chances with our electronic
brain. I think the factors can
be determined from the mes-
sage.”
“Let us hope so. I, for one,
am much more worried about
this man Thane than a virus
called X.”
IX
A t his first sight of
The Instrument, Gerd
Thane knew that he
would not have to resort to
trickery, nor would he have to
stall to prevent Febris from
learning how to use it. He
could not use it himself.
For some minutes he stared
at the flickering lights, listened
to the hum of the motors. The
electronic brain seemed alive
with activity. At one end, a
small conveyor belt fed cards
into a unit. He looked at them,
found out that these were
matching human beings for
marriage. The Instrument had
bred mankind into stupid ani-
mals.
Thane laughed silently. Why
was he calling other men stu-
pid? Alongside the minds that
had created such a machine, he
himself was an ignoramus.
Thane understood electron-
ics; that was his trade. He
knew enough elementary math-
ematics to grasp the principles
by which The Instrument had
made the Beorhi masters of the
Earth; but he did not under-
stand enough higher mathe-
matics to use it.
“Good God,” said Thane to
Febris. “I can’t run this thing;
it’s beyond my p>owers.”
The fat man was jarred out
of his complacent assumption
that he would be heir to the
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
Beorhi. “You lie!” he said.
“Records show that you can!”
“I don’t lie; the records do.”
He remembered that Charis
had told him of examining cer-
tain records which showed
Thane’s character.
“You have the potentiality,”
said Febris. “All through your
life you have been periodically
examined by agents of the Beo-
rhi. They know exactly what
kind of man you are. They
know your capabilities and
your limitations. All of your
classifications have been put on
cards, just like the cards that
assign couples for mating. By
devious means, I obtained a
listing of certain throwbacks
like you. I learned that you
were an electronics expert, that
could operate The Instru-
ment.”
ii'THERE IS more to this
machine than the elec-
tronics by which it operates,”
said Thane. “Sure, I can run
this thing; so can you. You did
it, with a set of instructions.
Anyone, save a few of the dull-
witted slaves that do not even
know they are alive, could do
it.
8i:
“But I cannot use The In-
strument. There is a vast dif-
ference between mere opera-
tion and intelligent use; in or-
der to use this electronic brain,
I must know higher mathemat-
ics. I must know how to ap-
praise values that I cannot
even understand, in order to
learn weaknesses of the human
race. And I must translate my
questions into mathematical
terms to feed into the transis-
tors and electrical circuits.”
“You could learn to do it.”
Thane sighed. He had been
wondering about that. Yes, he
might, learn — if he knew the
mathematical values of greed,
double-dealing, honesty, integ-
rity and a host of other things.
But would man be better off if
he were described by symbols
and appraised by electrons?
Someone had said that man is
a piece of the universe made
alive. But life connotes a free-
dom of action and a choice of
some sort. Figures destroyed
life or made it rigid, determin-
istic.
On the other hand, perhaps
human characteristics were
variable. Different external
factors might change the value
82
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
.of the abstractions of the soul.
Greed multiplied by one con-
stant might be vicious — and by
another might be admirable. It
was all very well to assume
that X equals greed and Y
equals altruistic honesty; but
if these were multiplied by a
motive named Z, would the fi-
nal result be good, or damna-
ble?
No doubt the Beorhi knew
how to perform these mathe-
matical miracles, but Thane
could not. No man since the
Tweniy-third Century had
known higher mathematics.
The subject was reserved for
the Beorhi alone.
UT KNOW TH.\T you have
bought forbidden books,
Gerd Thane,” Febris was say-
ing. “Perhaps one of them con-
tains these higher mathematics
you .speak of.”
“Some of them do,” said
Thane, “but I don’t under-
stand them. Certainhq I can’t
grasp it well eno.igh to give thg
human equation.”
Febris pulled an envelope
from his pocket. “Here are the
instructions Rhys gave me,” he
said. “They tell how the ma-
chine is run.” '
Thane studied the sheet for
a moment. The instructions
were clear; they told which
keyboard to use. But there
were several. Why this particu-
lar one?
Thane went to the keyboard.
He looked at it closely.
“And this is the answer that
came from the machine,” said
Febris, thrusting the second
sheet in front of Thane.
Thane looked at it and
laughed. The figures were the
same that Febris had copied
from the original. “Look,” he
said. He pointed to the electric
typewriter. It was running, re-
peating the meaningless figures
over and over again.
Thane was puzzled at first,
but now he noted certain famil-
iar features of the unit con-
nected with the typ>ewriter. He
went to a control panel and
twisted a dial.
A hidden speaker spluttered
and took on life. Presently a
sing-song voice began speaking
in ancient Beorhi.
The language of the con-
querors had been corrupted by
terrestrial' tongues in the six
centuries since the Beorhi in-
vasion. The change that took
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
83
place was comparable to the
corruption of Anglo-Saxon by
the Norman Conquerors of
Britain after 1066. The Beorhi
had used original words of
their own tongue to describe
what they used, while the
earthlings still used their terms
for the raw materials. On the
other hand, many of the Beo-
rhi had picked up phrases of
the vulgar language and the fi-
nal blend was roughly analo-
gous to the blend of English of
the Elizabethan era — partly
Anglo-Saxon, partly Norman
French, but different from
both, just a stone’s throw from
twentieth century English.
Classical Beorhi was still
taught to a few earthlings who
had daily contact with the
Master Race. Among them was
Febris. Thane, too, had learned
the tongue and he also under-
stood the words that came from
the speaker.
TT WAS A message, being
sent into sf>ace from the Pal-
ace to a fleet of Beorhi ships
bound for the earth. Thane
and Febris heard their names
n>entioned and realized that
everything that had happened
to them was part of a plot — a
cleverly-designed scheme with
earthlings moving like puppets
on strings into a position that
would throw the world back
again into Beorhi hands.
Febris clenched his fists.
His face paled. He swore under
his breath. “They can’t do this
to me ! They can’t take what is
mine!”
*
“The earth never was yours,
or any man’s.”
But Gerd Thane knew that
while the general plan had
worked out as described in the
message, there were certain
^hings that had been over-
looked. Rhys had exp>ected to
die, but Febris was spoken of
as a regent, not heir. Something
was amiss at this point, unless
Rhys had lied to Febris. It was
hardly likely; the Beorhi did
not have to lie to gain their
ends. They had mathematics
on their side, and mathematics
must tell the truth.
The surrender of the seal
was a greater concession to Fe-
bris than Rhys had anticipated.
Could this throw the entire
equation out of balance? Or
was the value of the seal so
near zero that it would not
change the result?
84
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
There was another variable,
too; the Beorhi had not antici-
j>ated Acair’s move to reach
Thane first. The master race
had exp>ected a .struggle be-
tween Thane and Acair, only
in the event of Febris’ over-
throw. But the struggle had de-
veloped ahead of time.
■^EVERTHELESS, the Beo-
^ rhi were right, in general.
The differences in their plan
from what had actually hap-
pened, only disclosed that there
were too many variables for
even master mathematicians to
foresee. The final equation had
three answers: Febris, Acair
and Thane were equally able to
become dominant.
And what of Ch^ris Ryna’s
position in the problem? Un-
doubtedly she introduced fac-
tors that would be hard to eval-
uate for a final solution. She
might be Thane’s weakness, his
vulnerable point; yet, he knew
that she might also be strength.
Her mathematical constant was
close to Thane’s, therefore her
motives must be nearly akin. If
so Thane’s value could double
with her help. And if the Beo-
rhi themselves recognized
Thane as the most dangerous
enemy ...”
He broke off, and not be-
cause the message was repeat-
ing itself again. The secret
door to the room had reopened.
Standing in the doorway was
Acair. i
“Febris, my dear friend,” he
said sarcastically, “your ability
to win friends and influence
impMjrtant people is improving.
You, the most unpopular man
on earth — not even except-
ing myself — ^have gained the
friendship of this sterling, in-
corruptible young man! Only a
few hours ago, he swore that he
would rather die than betray
his planet. Can it be that your
motives are also pure?” i
Febris spluttered with rage;
he took no heed of what Acair
was saying. “Get out of here,
you scoundrel. We are two to
your one; and by the authority
of the Gold Seal of the Beorhi,
which I wear around my neck,
I can have you torn apart and
your pieces thrown to the pal-
ace dogs.”
A CAIR SEEMED not in the
least afraid. He threw
back his head and laughed.
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
85
“You talk big, Febris,” he said.
“And lest there be more in
your words than a loud un-
pleasant sound, let me warn
you that the Gold Seal means
nothing to me. I am not condi-
tioned to click my heels and
bow three times when I see it.
Furthermore, I have a very
helpful device — an invention of
the earthlings of old, known as
the Equalizer.”
The police chief drew from
a holster at his side, a very
large automatic pistol.
Febris trembled and shrank
from its staring muzzle. “Don’t
be hasty, Acair. Remember, I
can be a great deal of value to
you, just as you can help me.
We should be friends, and not
enemies in the event that Rhys
dies.”
Acair was still grinning.
“He’s already dead, Febris, as
you well know,” he said. “Al-
though he had the fatal disease,
it’s my opinion — backed with
photographic proof — that he
was murdered. The Gold Seal
won’t protect you, if I wish to
let it be known that you got it
by assassination.”
“But you won’t, will you,
Acair?”
“Not immediately, Febris.
You see, I need you, just as
you said a moment ago. Not as
much as you need me, but if
you’ve won over this young
man, I’d say you were in a
splendid position to bargain.
Shall we join forces? My si-
lence on the assassination, for
your willingness to make me
partner?”
“Listen to that speaker on
the wall, Acair.” It was Thane
who spoke now, turning up the
volume so that Acair would
have no difficulty understand-
ing the words in the strange
JBeorhi tongue.
Acair listened. His smile
faded and his face grew black
with anger. He understood the
ancient sing-song words and his
eyes shifted from the speaker
to Thane and Febris as he be-
gan to understand that, clever
as he believed himself to be,
he had been only a plaything
of the master race.
TJ^HEN THE message end-
ed, Thane turned off the
speaker and spoke to the police
chief. “I know your motives,
Acair, and I know what Fe-
bris plans. But if one fact is
clear, it’s no time for us to
86
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
fight. More important than the
fact that both of you are
rogues, is the fate of the human
race. We can do nothing
against a new invasion of the
Beorhi if we fight each other.
If we join against them, we can
do much. They expect us to
fight each other; we can upset
their carefully prepared plan
by joining forces. Are you
willing?”
Febris whined: “I have the
seal. Before he died, Rhys
made me heir.”
“Shut up or you’ll be a dead
heir,” said Acair. He looked at
Thane. “You, I could trust, but
I don’t trust the revolving so-
and-so; he’d murder us just for
the privilege of wearing that
gold thing around his neck. He
murdered Rhys, you know.”
“Rhys died of the plague,”
said Febris, insistently.
“You’re just trying to turn
Thane against me.”
“The plague of a sharp in-
strument through the skull,”
said Acair. “And you’re not
smart enough to get away
with it. Even Thane here had
gotten around you.”
“What do you mean by
that?”
“I mean, old friend, that
you’ve been took, as the old
saying goes. I don’t know how
the lad got smart, but I expect
that Charis Ryna had some-
thing to do with it. But it’s a
cinch that if he’s able to mas-
ter The Instrument, he’ll do it
for himself and not for you.”
TCEBRIS turned on Thane.
“Is this true?”
“You promised that Charis
and I...”
“Ah!” said Acair. “And if
I told you that I have this
young woman under arrest,
would j'ou desert Febris?”
Thane felt as if he’d been
struck with a fist. “You’re
bluffing!”
“I’m not bluffing. But no
harm will come to her — ^yet. It
seems that the Beorhi think
you are important, too, young
man. You’ve got a certain —
ah — variable constant in your
soul that can make things
troublesome for them. I think
we’d better keep you around.
And I believe that Febris, for
all his dull wit, is smart enough
to see that he can gain nothing
by trying to oppose me now.
Later, he may try to murder
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
87
me, but I’ll be on guard
against that. Right now, Thane,
you’d better do as we say. If
Charis Ryna isn’t reason
enough, I can think of other
reasons ...”
It was too late now to use
cunning; Thane had to acL He
charged Acair while the police
chief was i . the middle of the
sentence, .\cair had not expect-
ed the rush, and he was unpre-
pared for the blow that sent
him reeling back against the
door frame. He tried to use the
gun; but before he could re-
gain his balance, Thane
charged in again and seized the
wrist, twisting it sharply till
Acair screamed with pain and
dropped the weapon.
'T'HEN TH.\NE buried his
fist deep in the small man’s
shrunken belly. Acair doubled
like a broken stick. As he
stood in this jX)sition, gasp-
ing for breath, Gerd Thane
brought the side of his palm
down sharply on the back of
Acair’s neck, near the base of
the skull. The hatchet-man of
the Beorhi collapsed^
Through the brief battle, Fe-
bris had stood half stunned;
but when .\cair’s gun fell to the
floor, he shook himself out of
his frightened state long
enough to make a dive for it.
Thane turned just in time and
kicked the weapon out of reach.
He jumped aside as the fat
man reached out for his legs,
in an attempt to trip him.
But before Thane could rush
Febris, the Adviser was on his
feet, moving backward to a
place where a fire axe hung on
the wall in a glass case. Febris
smashed the glass with his fist.
Disregarding the cuts on his
hand, he reached in and
grasped the axe.
Thane halted, picked up a
chair and caught the blow as
it fell. Then he moved in closer,
knocking the arm that held t'ne
axe to one side and planting a
heavy punch on the side of the
fat man’s jaw. Febris stag-
gered. Tried to lift the axe, but
Thane hit him again.
Febris stumbled to his knees.
His head was spinning, and he
could not lift the axe. “Don’t!”
he pleaded. “Don’t kill me!
You can have anything you
ask!”
Thane struck again and Fe-
bris toppled backwards. Thane
88
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
used another judo punch, and
Febris lay still. There was less
likelihood of his being dead
than there was for Acair. Fe-
bris was better padded.
Thane leaned over, tore the
gold seal from the neck of the
Adviser, and slipped it over his
own head. He looked down at
the object that once would have
made him click his heels and
bow like a monkey. It was just
a worthless badge to him now.
No, not worthless; other men
would still bow and click their
heels, and he needed this kind
of thing to meet the threat from
space.
Then Thane went through
the door to the elevator. He
had to find Charis.
X
F ebris was groaning
feebly when Acair final-
ly drifted back to con-
sciousness. It took Acair a mo-
ment or two to collect his
thoughts; then he rose on one
knee and looked at the blood-
ied face of the Adviser, a few
feet away.
The Gold Seal was gone;
Thane probably had it. But
Acair had yet to be awed by
the badge of the Beorhi. What
was more important at the mo-
ment was the fire axe on the
floor beside Febris.
Acair stood, swayed a little,
then staggered to the axe. He
picked it up. Febris stopp>ed
groaning, opened his eyes and
looked at the upraised axe.
“No!” he screamed.
He never spoke again.
“They don’t call me the
hatchet-man of the Beorhi for
nothing,” Acair muttered.
He cast his eyes down to-
ward some papers on the floor.
He picked them up, saw they
were instructions for operating
The Instrument, and tucked
them away in the pocket of his
black tunic. Gerd Thane alone
stands between me and my em-
pire, he thought. And I’ll beat
him even if I must enlist the
aid of the Beorhi who are fly-
ing here!
He went through the door to
the elevators.
XI
T hane had never
been in the Palace be-
fore this day, but he
guessed correctly that Rhys
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
89
would have his living quarters
on the top floor, and that pri-
vacy would be assured there.
He got out of the elevator,
went through a gold-studded
doorway, into the rooms of the
ruler, and was startled by the
luxurious fittings, tapestries,
silver trimmings, beautiful
paintings and deep soft rugs.
There were soft chairs' and
floor cushions. A gorgeous
place. He turned quickly and
locked the door, lest Febris or
Acair should follow him from
below.
Exploring the other rooms,
he found a hot meal on a heat-
ed stand. Probably the kitchen
staff had not been informed
that Rhys was dead and had
prepared food for him. Thane
went to a window and looked
out. It was night. He’d been in
the castle a long time and was
hungry. He helped himself;
and after he replaced lids on
the various dishes, the heated
stand sank through the floor to
the scullery.
He went on exploring. He
found the study with its wall
of life-sized television screens,
showing activities all over the
earth. The scenes were un-
changed since Thane first saw
them in Acair’s office. It must
have been many hours — five or
six at least — since he first came
to the Palace. And now he wore
the badge that made him Mas-
ter of the Earth.
Rows of buttons on a panel
would help him find Charis. He
touched one. He saw the dia-
mond mines of South Africa in
place of the spaceport; anoth-
er button changed the scene to
the Queen Maud observatory
in Antarctica. He went on
pressing buttons, till at last he
turned up a man wearing the
red and blue uniform of a pal-
ace guard.
He touched a red button at
the base of the panel. The
sound of the man humming
softly to himself came to his
ears. “Guard!”
TNSTANTLY the man
^ snapped to attention and
faced the camera. Through the
monitor he saw, not Rhys as he
expected, but a long haired
earthling wearing the Gold
Seal. At the sight of the seal
his eyes glazed and he clicked
his heels and bowed three
times. This man was so condi-
tioned that a goat could have
90
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
worn the seal and he would
have saluted.
“Yes, sire! What are your
wishes?”
“A short time ago a young
woman, Charis Ryna, was tak-
en into custody by your chief
Acair. Where is she now?”
The man blinked. “I do not
know, your highness.”
“Could you find out?”
“Sir, I am on duty here. I
am guarding the bureau of vital
statistics.”
“Call your superior and tell
him to find out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thane waited. His mirid
swept back to the events of the
day. He had tried to alter the
carefully-worked-out equation
of Beorhi, but Acair and Fe-
bris had been too well ap-
praised by The Instrument.
Perhaps the Beorhi had known
there could be no alliance be-
tween alien characters. Two
and two are always four — but
two dogs and two cats' are al-
ways two dogs and two cats,
never four dogs or four cats.
With Charis, he might be
able to change the mathematics
of this vital equation. He hoped
so. To him she was as impor-
tant as Earth, but he reasoned
that Earth certainly was more
important than both of them.
Together they would change
the equation, become variable
factors in a variable world.
The outcome of an interstellar
war would rest on what differ-
ence they made.
Charis had hinted broadly •
that she had motives other than
those shared by Febris and
Acair. What were they? Why
had she worked against Febris,
her sup>erior, whom she was
conditioned to obey? He’d nev-
er know unless she told him.
ipRESENTLY an officer,
wearing a silver seal ap-
peared on the screen. He
clicked his heels and bowed
jusC as the guard had done
when he saw the seal on
Thane’s chest. “I am at your
service, your highness.”
“Please give us the details
about Charis Ryna, a young
woman arrested an hour or two
ago by Acair, your chief.”
Something in Thane’s voice
must have alerted the guard.
“How is that you speak frwn
Rhys’ quarters and wear his
seal? You are not a Beorhus.”
There was nothing to dp but
tell the truth. “Rhys is dead.”
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
91
“He has appointed you re-
gent?”
“In a manner of speaking, I
am his regent.”
“I have not been so noti-
fied by Acair,” said the Guard.
“I am not acquainted with
the usual methods of commu-
nication,” Thane said. “That is
why I have asked you to find
Miss Ryna. If I knew how to
work this blasted communica-
tions system, I’d speak direct-
ly to Acair.”
The officer nodded under-
standingly. He flipp>ed his seal
and looked on the back. “The
combination for .\cair’s office
is 266-415-272.”
'^HANE LOOKED at the
buttons. It was ridiculously
simple. There were nine rows
of buttons, ten in each row. He
pressed the second button in
the first column, the sixth in
the third and so on. As he
pressed each button the pic-
tures changed, but as he
pressed button No. 2 in the'
ninth column he found himself
looking into the familair scene
of Acair’s office.
Charis was seated there, star-
ing at the wall; at the door was
a female officer, wearing a gun.
“This is Our Highness
speaking,” said Thane, opening
the sound switch.
The female officer jumped
up and gave the royal salute.
“Yes, your highness?” she said
reverently. Then she saw
Thane’s face. Charis, watching,
opened her eyes wide, but said
nothing.
“To whom are we speak-
ing? Thane asked.
“I am Captain Venghi, for-
mula X32.7S1, third deputy as-
sistant to your servant Acair,
your highness.” She paused
and continued. “But you are
not a Beorhus. Why are you
permitted to call yourself king
and to wear the Gold Seal.”
Rhys gave her the explana-
tion he had given previously,
which Captain Venghi seemed
to accept. The seal seemed to
account for everything, and it
was plain to be seen how Febris
could have become master
simply by wearing it.
“It has come to our atten-
tion, Captain,” said Thane, af-
ter he had explained, “that you
are holding Charis Ryna, an as-
sistant to our Adviser, Febris.”
“Yes, your excellency, she is
here.” The captain nodded to
Charis.
92
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
“Bring her .to us at once.”
“But— ah — your highness,
we understand she helped a
prisoner escape.”
“,Never mind; bring her
here,” said Thane.
He switched the scene before
Captain Venghi could reply.
'T'HANE PLAYED with the
buttons, switching from
spot to spot as he waited. Be-
neath the panel he found a di-
rectory, which listed the com-
binations for each of the thou-
sands of government installa-
tions surveyed by the monitor
system. Quickly he looked up
the combination for Planetary
Defense, No. 335-333-444, and
made a note of it.
A bell clanged, and Thane
gave a start. It seemed to be
coming from the next room. He
rose, stepped through the door-
way into a long hallway fitted
with bright lights shining from
Vermillion walls. At the end was
a screen, on which he saw the
figures of Charis and her es-
cort. The escort was not Cap-
tain Venghi, but Acair him-
self.
Apparently it was a one-way
screen, for Acair gave no hint
that he saw Thane. He stood
resolutely beside the girl, and
he held a pistol in his hand,
pointed at the girl’s side.
The implication was clear.
Thane must open the door and
admit both, or Charis would
die.
XII
H elplessly, Thane
looked around for
some means of de-
fending himself. Surely Rhys
and the Beorhi Rulers before
him had ways of protecting
themselves. Didn’t they have
arms? Thane saw none; nor
was there any indication that
there were secret devices to
protect against assassins.
Perhaps the Beorhi had been
so sure of themselves and their
mathematical appraisal of hu-
man nature, that they relied en-
tirely on their equations to pro-
tect them.
Well, if the Beorhi could do
it. Thane would try it.
He strode forward, grasped
a knob and opened the door.
Acair took the gun frorn the
girl’s side. Already Thane was
charging toward the man in
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
93
black. The gun swung around
pbinted at Thane, but there
was no pull of the trigger.
Instead, Acair stared hyp-
notically at the Gold Seal on
Thane’s chest. Something held
his finger from pressing
the trigger. The conditioning,
which Acair scorned, was there,
although he claimed the seal
meant nothing, he could not
fire. Febris had not known this
when the gun was pointed at
him in the subterranean cham-
ber, and his lack of courage had
cost him his life. After the seal
was taken from Febris’ neck,
Acair had no compunction
against killing him. Thane
swung his fist.
Acair went down in a heap
and the gun slid out of his
hand. A guard standing at at-
tention nearby clicked his heels,
bowed three times, then put
handcuffs on his former superi-
or.
“Bring him inside,” said
Thane.
The guard looked dumb. “I
cannot enter,” he said.
“It’s an order,” said Thane;
“bring him inside and stand
guard over him.”
The soldier seized Acair
roughly and forced him to walk
through the door behind Thane
and Charis.
TTHANE LOOKED at the
girl with puzzlement in his
eyes. She • had said nothing
since he first saw her. She
seemed to be in a trance as she
entered the study and did not
seat herself till Thane told her
to be seated. Acair and the
guard remained near the door-
v/ay.
At last she spoke. “You have
won over Acair and Febris,”
she said. Her voice had a tone-
less sound, as if she talked
while asleep. “Rhys said it
would be thus, I hoped k would
not be.”
“You wanted me to lose?”
“Yes, your excellency,” she
said. “But I should not call you
that. Although you wear the
Seal of State, you are human,
like me. And inferior to the
Beorhi.”
“Charis ! What has happened
to you?”
“Nothing, Gerd,” she said.
“But since my earliest child-
hood, I have been commis-
sioned for a task. The Beorhi
worked it out on The Instru-
94
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
ment. I was taught one thing —
to kill you and to turn Earth
over to the Beorhi pilgrims.”
As she spK)ke, she rose. “I do
not want to do it, but I must,”
she said. She walked slowly to-
ward a tapestry on the wall op-
posite the television screens.
She reached up.
“Charis!” Thane’s voice
cracked like a whip. He didn’t
know what she intened doing,
but he knew that if it was
planned by the Beorhi, it would
be dangerous for him.
She hesitated at the sound of
his voice. “I must kill you, my
lover,” she said. “.\11 my life
I’ve waited for this moment.
Since I was a child, I was
taught that a man like you
would someday be at my mer-
cy. I was to strike without pity,
for the glory of the master
race.”
“The Beorhi planned this
whole thing!” He knew it was
true.
“Yes, Gerd,” she said. “The
Beorhi knew that Earth history
moved in cycles of 600 years.
All this had been worked out
by The Instrument.”
•yH.XNE KNEW this from
his reading. As far as writ-
ten records went, there had
been cycles averaging 600
years. Not all were exactly the
same, but the average of 600
years persisted as the fatal
years for any civilization.
The early Egyptian dynas-
ties ended fwith the invasion of
the Shepherd Kings, the Hyk-
sos, sometime between 1750
and 1600 B. C. Troy fell about
600 years later. Between each
disaster civilizations rose to
power, then were superseded by
other typ>es of civilization.
Greek glory followed Troy and
destroyed the Persian empire,
then fell apart after .Alexander.
Rome was founded about
800 B.C., but did not become a
great nation until after .Alex-
ander. It lived from 200 B. C.
to 400 .A. D. in a position of
Grandeur, then fell before the
Barbarians.
The Crusades forecast doom
for Islam’s bid for power after
600 years of growth. The Ref-
ormation ended the feudal
reign in Europe and marked
the beginnings of Western Civi-
lization. Democracy rose from
its humble beginnings in 1600
to the coming of the Beorhi in
2189. Now in the year 2803, it
was time for the tide to turn
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
95
again. And The Instrument had
marked the date in the Beorhi
calendar.
Charis was speaking again.
“The Beorhi did not foresee the
plague,” she said, “but they
knew something would occur
during my lifetime. Something
would end their power unless
they introduced mathematical
factors to change the result.
You, Gerd, and I are those fac-
tors. We change the result, and
we cancel out at the end. Oth-
erwise Earth would again be-
long to earthlings. . .”
.“Charis!” said Thane.
“Earthlings are the rightful
owners.”
“We must not stop civiliza-
tion, Gerd,” she said. She
reached for the tapestry but
Thane sprang to where she
stood, his black hair flying be-
hind him. He pulled her hand
aside, for he sensed that her
action would unloose some
powerful weapon that might de-
stroy them all.
He hurled her to the floor.
The soldier guarding Acair
drew his pistol. “Don’t shoot,”
growled Thane. Charis lay still,
as if she had fainted.
TPHANE STRODE to the
control panel and punched
out the combination 335-333-
444, which he had made note of
before. The lower right-htind
picture flipped to the plotting
room of Interplanetary De-
fense. Thane pressed the red
button, opening the sound. “At-
tention, please. Hear this.”
The corps of men in the
plotting room sprang- to atten-
tion like monkeys, clicking
their heels in unison and giving
the Royal Salute. Thane was
sick of the procedure, but he
could not stop the conditioning
of the men. It had been instilled
since childhood.
He spoke. “Approaching
Earth from space is, a fleet of
hostile ships,” he said. “Direct
the astronomical detail to plot
the course of this fleet and give
the range to the space-mark
stations.”
The officer in charge spoke
up “Your excellency! We have
already noted the p>ositions
from the fleet which now ap>-
proaches the orbit of Neptune;
our missiles could intercept
them near the orbit of Uran-
us.”
“Then give the orders to
fire!”
96
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
“But, all-knowing majesty,
have you forgotten that the
space-narks can only be fired
by your highness through The
Instrument?”
Thane’s heart sank. The
Beorhi had outwitted him to
the last. He couldn’t stop the
invasion. “Never mind,” he
said; “I’ll attend to it.”
He looked down at Charis,
who looked up, she had heard.
“Surrender, Gerd,” she said.
“Give up. You can’t win
against the master race.”
“First, I’ll blast us all!” he
said. He gestured toward the
ta{>estry.
“It would only blast one
man,” she said. “It is geared to
The Instrument and it would
only strike down the man who
would, according to the calcu-
lations of the mathematical
equivalents of us all, at the
moment be most likely to hold
the key to terrestrial domina-
tion.”
The Instrument was uncan-
ny!
“How do you know this?” he
asked her.
She looked puzzled. “I’m
afraid I don’t know — it seems
to have been placed in my
brain at some time when I was
not aware. By hypnosis, per-
haps.”
TTHANE nodded. Her ac-
tions against him were the
result of post-hypnotic sugges-
tion. “There is nothing they
haven’t thought of!” he said.
“No, Gerd,” said Charis. “If
you agree to surrender, my
work is ended. My task is fin-
ished. You will be rewarded. I
was told that I would long for
you, and I could have you if I
persuaded you to agree to let
the Beorhi land.”
Thane tensed. Suddenly he
was alive again. A broad smile
twisted his lips. If the Beorhi
had offered a bribe like this,
they mdst not be so sure of
their plot. There would be a
loophole; they must know it
was within Thane’s power to
upset everything!
The Instrument could fire
the space-narks. The Instru-
ment was electronic ! He picked
up the. directory and thumbed
its pages. Yes, there was a cam-
era in the secret room. He
pressed buttons. He saw the
battered body of Febris on the
floor. No time to question Acair
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
about it now. He pressed the
red button for sound.
“Hear this, instrument of the
Beorhi! The space-narks are
aimed. Fire!”
Lights flashed from the ma-
chine. Thane flipped the tele-
vision view to the space-nark
site. He saw twenty narks rise
up into the night, hell-bent for
the orbit of Uranus and a ren-
dezvous with the Beorhi fleet.
Only a command had done it —
and the seal on Thane’s chest!
He turned, just in time to see
Acair use the judo punch he
had learned from Thane. The
guard, intently watching a
scene he had never seen before,
had forgotten his prisoner.
The soldier fell with a single
punch and Acair swept up his
pistol. He moved around from
the doorway to get a better aim
at Thane.
But Thane acted on impulse.
He sprang to the wall, as Acair
aimed.
'T'HE EXPRESSION on
Acair’s face was one of in-
tense determination. He re-
solved, no matter what his
training and psychological con-
ditioning, to overcome the
97
block that prevented him from
shooting at a man who wore the
Seal of State. Vessels stood out
on his forehead as he com-
manded his finger to squeeze
the trigger. (
But the instant of hesitation
necessary to overcome the con-
ditioning was enough for
Thane. He swept the tapestry
from its hanging and flung
himself to the floor.
A bolt of flame swept across
the room, and struck down
Acair who stood where Thane
had stood when Charis had
threatened the same death. A
dead finger pulled the trigger
and the bullet thudded harm-
lessly into the wall; The In-
strument had acted again, strik-
ing down the man who, at the
moment, held the key to terres-
trial domination. The Beorhi
had figured things down to a
split second — but the variable
of human nature was such that
the key hung in a delicate bal-
ance between two men. And the
very action of The Instrument
itself swung the result! ri
Charis rose sobbing from the
floor. Thane was at her side in
an instant. “It’s all over,” he
said; “the Beorhi have lost.”
98
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
She seemed to shudder and
she opened her eyes wide. The
hypnotic stare was gone from
her eyes and she was herself
again. “But I’ve lost you,
Gerd.”
“You’ve only lost your con-
ditioning,” said Thane. “Your
career, so to speak. In the gold-
en age of the Twentieth and
Twenty-first Centuries, many
women gave up careers for
marriage. Since your career —
working for the Beorhi — no
longer possesses a future, it
might be time for you to give
up yours.”
She did not smile. “I remem-
ber what I did, Gerd,” she said.
“It was like a trance; I was
compelled to do what I did not
want to do.”
“Hypnosis,” he said.
“Yet, would you marry a
woman who had tried to kill
you?”
“History had several such in-
stances,” said Thane, “and not
at intervals of 600 years. Even
if it hadn’t been done before,
we should put a premium on
originality. Earth as become
p>eopled with rubber-stamp
men, and much original think-
ing must be done if our race is
to get back to where it was 600
years ago.”
HE MOVED gracefully into
his arms. There was fire in
her kiss. At least the Beorhi
had not conditioned that.
Thane released her, took the
Golden Seal of State from his
neck and cast it into a chair so
he could hold her closer. As he
kissed her, the guard regained
consciousness from the blow
that Acair struck. He glanced
at the Gold Seal in the chair.
Snapped to attention and salut-
ed the chair.
Thane picked up the seal
and held it. “Carry Acair’s
body to the sepulchre,” he
said. “Then go find the Chief
Justice of the Supreme Court.
Get him out of bed, if neces-
sary. Bring him here to per-
form the marriage ceremony
for Charis and me.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard salut-
ed again, picked up Acair’s
body and departed through the
gold-studded door.
Thane took the seal. “First
of all, we have to short-circuit
The Instrument forever. Then
a proclamation of the First Law
of'Earth, under which we’ll call
constitutional conventions.”
THE VARIABLE CONSTANT
99
“What is this First Law?’'
she asked.
“That all authority derives
from the Creator, and that no
man is above the law. They’re
conditioned to obey me — or
anyone else who wears this seal.
I can’t undo that conditioning,
overnight, but T can limit it —
and whittle away my power un-
til neither I, nor anyone else,
can have more than is granted
me by common consent. And
subject to withdrawal if I
abuse it.”
She nestled in his arms as
they sank onto a floor cushion.
“I know you’ll be elected Pres-
ident,” she said.
Somewhere in space the Beo-
rhi fleet had its rendezvous
with the space-narks and there
was a great flash of flame and
light. Not all the ships were hit,
but the remnants turned and
fled back through hyperspace
in the direction from whence
they had come.
The odds were against the
Beorhi, who never tackled any-
thing unless the mathematics*
were propitious. And the vari-
able constant of lowly earth-
men had prevailed over the
highest mathematics of the
universe.
^ The Reckoning
As I expected, there was wide disagreement on the Knight article,
ranging from the reader who put “AAAAA” on his coupon to the one
who followed his “X” rating with, “Keep Knight out of the magazine —
he hui-ts science fiction, rather than helps it.” About 80^/o of those who
responded, voted on the articles, though some objected to their inclusicm
On the coupon even as they voted. Be of good cheer: the article ratings
will go here. Asimov came out 3.23, which would have griven him a
clear 2d place; Knight cable out 3.66, which would have put him clear-
ly in third place. But here is the way you scored the stories in our June
issue :
1. Cargo Death 2.83.
2. Back of A Hand (tied with)
Intelligence Quotient 3.70
3. Time of the Tinkers 4.17
4. Just Call Me Irish 5.06
5. PC Ml 5.37
How do we decide which story to list first in the event of a tie?
Simple — the one which has the plurality of “A” or “1” ratings.
£dUoJtiai
YESTERDAY'S
WORLD OF
TOMORROW:
1928 IV'
I ’VE BEEN reminded that
there was a letter depart-
ment, too, back in 1928,
and the person who mentioned
this asked why«-I didn’t say
something about the sort of let-
ters science-fictionists were
writing to Amazing Stories in
those days. Truly, I meant to
cover this aspect of yesterday’s
world, too; but the length to
which consideration of the sto-
ries brought this column — or
lack of time — has frustrated
me up to now. So, this time,
we’ll start with it.
In “Discussions” for July
1928, a reader says, in refer-
ence to H. P. Lovecraft’s “Col-
our Out Of Space” (which ap-
peared in the September 1927
issue), “I did not see the col-
our, but there is a spot some-
where in New England like that
described as the blasted heath,
for I saw such a place when I
was a boy about ten years old,
when traveling with my par-
ents. I do not remember just
what state we were in or what
town we stopped at, but I was
in the habit of straying gff in
the woods every place we went,
and I remember coming to a
place such as that which is de-
scribed in the story. At the
100
101
time the stone walls and chim-
ney of the house and wall of
barn and well were standing,
but no woodwork was to be
seen. I could not get to the
house or barn, because I was
afraid of the gray dust, at the
time I thought it was quick-
sand, as I could not reach any-
thing solid when I poked into it
with the branch of a tree.
“The space covered as near
as I can guess was about 3 or
4 acres.”
This is not surprising, since
Lovecraft was an indefa-
tiguable traveler around New
England, and many of the de-
scriptions in his stories come
from places and vistas he ob-
served; so it is not impossible
that HPL visited to the same
locale that our correspondent
mentions, and that the “Colour
Out Of Space” was partly de-
rived from this setting. How-
ever, the writer of this letter
gives no hint that he imagines
the Lovecraft story to be oth-
er than pure fiction,
TAR. MILES J. BREUER,
who had appeared several
times in the magazine by now,
has this to say about readers’
comments on the * stories:
“Their opinion, often crudely
and inarticulately expressed,
coincides with mine.
“ ‘Too dry’, ‘too much math-
ematics,’ ‘too much stuff that
doesn’t mean anything,’ ‘too
much theory,’ and so on, all
mean that the stories have a
tendency to lack a modern lit-
erary quality.
“I don’t care how much sci-
ence you put in, if the stories
conform to modern literary
standards, the above criticisms
will not occur. Lfet your stories
have plot and unity of impres-
sion, and the general reader
will like them, in spite of the
science.”
And editor Sloane replies,
“A writer; such as Charles
Lamb or Nathaniel Haw-
thorne, could describe the most
ordinary scene and make it lit-
erature. But neither could have
dipp>ed into science for their
subjects, because it would be
unfamiliar ground for them.
Our stories, on the other hand,
are written to popularise sci-
ence.”
There is continued discus-
sion on the relative merits of
102
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
Jules Verne and H. G. Wells,
both of whom were still appear-
ing in Amazing Stories: a read-
er urges the introduction of the
love element, to make the read-
ers feel that the stories are
more “true to life”; there are
objections to slang and bad
English in Cummings’ “Around
the Universe”; discussion of
time-traveling, wherein the
reader decides that “not a sin-
gle time traveler or machine
has been seen which leads us
to the conclusion that either
man will never invent such a
machine or, in traveling back
through time, will be invisible
to those whom he observes.”
The question of covers — ^are
they too gaudy? Do they give
a wrong impression of the
magazine? — arises again, as
does the question of the maga-
zine’s title. Shouldn’t it be
changed to Scientijiction?
Doesn’t Amazing Stories sound
too vulgar?
And there’s discussion about
a possible “science club”, run
by the magazine, but separate
from it — a separate publication
being the organ of the club.
This would be a forum for dis-
cussions and articles helpful to
college students, etc. There was
nothing recognizable as a sci-
ence fiction “fan club” here,
you’ll note.
TN THE fiction department,
Charles Cloukey’s “Super
Radio” was a matter transmit-
ter, operated by jewel thieves,
under the leadership of a beau-
tiful woman scientist. Paul’s
cover shows her fetchingly ar-
rayed in knickers and two-
toned sweater; she’s at the con-
trols of a gadget whence comes
the artificial fire-ball from
which our hero (in his aviator’s
outfit) is shrinking back. (Oh,
yes — the beautiful gal-scientist
is saved for our aviator, in the
end ; sphygmomanometer tests
showed that she was not guilty
of murder, and she was cured
.by psychotherapy.)
I’ve never heard whether
anyone uncovered the identity
of “Marius”, author of “Van-
dals From the Moon” — an in-
teresting re-write of H. G.
Wells’ “War of the Worlds” so
^ar as the general plot-outline
is concerned. The alien’s ship
'looks like a blunt-nosed tor-
pedo with wings; after landing,
the wings are retracted.
YESTERDAY'S WORLD OF TOMORROW 1928 IV
103-
Tapping proved it to be hollow and it was
found to be constructed of a steel-like metal, cor-
rugated, and reenforced with thick ribs of the
same metal, at twenty feet junctures on its ex-
terior. Three circular openings like three enor-
mous trap doors, each of them fully fifteen feet
in diameter, took up almost the entire surface of
the nose and gave it the horrid, dragon-like ap-
pearance that it embodied. In height, it measured
fifty-two feet.
...Within three hours of its landing on earth,
ten long, slender, worm-like tubes, each of them
in the neighborhood of one hundred feet in
length and ten or twelve feet high, had emerged
from the three circular trap-doors at the head-end
of the lunar torpedo. They seemed of the same
metal as the torpedo itself, and had no discernible
openings, and differed very little from it in
shape ; instead of being rigid as was the parent-
ship, these metal worms were flexible, almost
snake-like in their structure. They seemed to be
made of a long series of narrow hoop-like seg-
ments and tapered down to a tail. They traveled
with curving snakish motions with great rapidity
and . employed a terrific crushing power in the
manner of the boa constrictor, or the giant python.
Armed citizens and police of the vicinity found
them to be bullet-proof. . .
The worm-like things create
havoc by such pranks as wrap-
ping themselves twice or three
times around a number of steel
girders on a railroad bridge and
twisting the structure down.
Bombs dropped from airplanes
harm them not. Dr. Macklin
will investigate the “decay
rays” they use, with vividly-de-
scribed effect.
It turns out that, inside the
metal worms, are little men
who emerge in chairs on stilts;
the little men run to the size
of a ten-year-old child, have
big heads, scrawny bodies, no
hair. They kidnap girls; when
our hero is captured, he finds
that the Lunite camp has a
corral full of girls — however,
the invaders do not seem to
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
104
have very interesting designs
for them. And our hero, who’s
always been interested in me-
chanics, etc., manages to watch
and figure out how the stilt
machines are used — and, of
course, "he and the heroine es-
cape in one.
•
T IKE H. G. WELLS’ Mar-
tians, the vandals from the
Moon are destroyed by bac-
teria — but it’s bacteriological
warfare on the part of be-
leaguered humans,, not natural
happenstance which does the
job.
This was the first story in
Amazing Stories where the
hero hijacks the aliens’ ma-
chines, as described; the in-
cident is plausible. The Lunar
“walkers” are essentially sim-
ple; the hero has had a chance
to observe them, and we know
that has an aptitude for things
mechanical. He does not try to
attack the enemy with one of
their own machines; he merely
uses it to make an escape.
Unfortunately, such virtue
did not start a trend; the Ed-
mond Hamilton trick of the
hero getting hold of the en-
emy’s ship (usually a formid-
able, intricate mechanism) and
in no time at all being able to
outmaneuver the enemy with
if — as well as wipe out a good
part of the hostiles, operating
their own ships, but helpless .
against him — was the plot-de-
vice to be repeated again and
again.
Bob Olsen’s “Educated Pill”
introduces the scientifically-
gimmicked baseball. “As he
spoke, he had the ball in his
hand, twisting on it until it
came apart in two halves. One
of the pieces was just a hollow
shell of steel with small holes
in it; the other part was the
funniest - looking contraption
you ever see in your life. It was
built like a dinkey toy aero-
plane, with a propeller and
dinguses for making it go up
and down and to the right or
left. The whole rig was so small
that it_fitted inside a hollow
sphere just the size of a big-
league baseball.”
It’s run, we find out by a
“spring motor, which he wound
up by twisting it just before
he delivered the ball. The steer-
ing gear and motor were con-
trolled by small buttons, which
he pressed through the cover.”
YESTERDAY'S WORLD OF TOMORROW 1928 IV
105
Needless to say, the results
are amusing if unconvincing,
TN THE August issue, one
Frederick Bitting started
something off when his letter
in “Discussions” contained var-
ious paragraphs addressed to.
specific readers, to whose let-
ters in previous issues he
wished to reply. It would be
some time before we’d see what
this led to, and the most spec-
tacular results would not ap-
pear in later letter departments
of the science fiction maga-
zines, but in fan magazines.
Dr. Breuer goes into space
medicine, speaking about “the
depressing effects of long peri-
ods of monotony and of physi-
cal inactivity . . . minor symp-
toms caused by the withdrawal
of gravitation . . . vertigo and
nausea”... etc. The editor
notes that Hugo Gernsback
had taken note of space-sick-
ness in “Ralph 124c41 Plus”.
Other subjects covered at
great length — letters were of-
ten quite long, and included
formulae and diagrams at times
— were traveling faster than
light; conditions on Mars; the
problems of Wells’ invisible
man (allowing that one could
become invisible the way Grif-
fin does) which the author
overlooked, and continued dis-
cussion of covers and the title.
Amazing Stories.
pAUL’S COVER shows Rich-
ard Ballinger Seaton, in hel-
met and red flying suit (with
knickers tucked into zipper-top
boots), testing a device which
will play a part in “The Sky-
lark of Space”. Waving her
handkerchief to him from the
ground is Dorothy Vaneman,
fetchingly arrayed in purple
knickers and a two-toned
v-necked, sleeveless blouse.
The “v” nearly reaches her
waist; but since she shows lit-
tle evidence of mamillian de-
velopment above the waist, it
makes no difference.
While E. E. Smith is rightly
credited as having written the
first galactic science fiction
novel (he and Mrs. Garby
wrote the tale before 1920),
Edmond Hamilton deserves
equal honors for innovation,
since his two-part serial
“Crashing Suns” appeared in
the August and September
1928 issues of Weird Tales.
106 FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
And Ed beat Doc to the inter-
stellar federation of beings; all
manner of creatures character
the Hamilton tales — the story
mentioned was the first of a
series — and all live in har-
mony, without the slightest
thought of creature-prejudice,
joining forces against the com-
mon menace. (This is usually
some single race of super-sci-
entific beings which — for per-
fectly good reason by their
lights, not just plain nastiness
— ^are out to steal or smash var-
ious suns we need.)
There are bazookas, disin-
tegrator rays, and flying belts
in “Armageddon — 2419”, by
. Philip Francis Nowlan; and
I’m sure you know that the
hero, Anthony Rogers, became
“Buck Rogers” in the comic
strips and on the radio.
“The Perambulating Home”
is the last of “Hicks’ Inven-
tions With A Kick” to appear
in Amazing Stories; and though
the slapstick was beginning to
wear thin — nearly every story
has a device based upon hy-
draulics; and in the big dem-
onstration, Hicks somehow
jams or breaks the lever of the
machine, which thereupon goes
wild. You know, of course, that
the tons of water are going to
burst loose soon — and the flood
tops everything off. However,
by itself, “The Perambulating
Home” is good for a laugh. The
house can be rotated so that
you can be in the sun, or the
shade, all day if you like. And
when things go wrong, it starts
to roll over like a tumbling toy
and perambulates off a cliff
into the bay. When the nar-
rator comes to, the Japanese
servant tells him, “And so.
Honorable Perambulator Home
are now transmigrated into
ocean-going motor-ship of al-
coholic joy, destitution gener-
ally unTlnown.”
•T^HERE H.AS never, in the
20th Century, been any
valid grounds for supposing
that the atom “ . . . with its cen-
tral nucleus and its satellites,
called electrons, is really only a
miniature universe, in fact and
not by analogy only...”, as
Professor Halley states in
R. F. Starzl’s “Out Of The
Sub-Universe”. This is the
cover story for the Summer
1928 edition of Amazing Sto-
ries Quarterly. The author
107
YESTERDAY'S WORLD OF TOMORROW 1928 IV
does, however, honor one log-
ical necessity that Cummings
did not bother with in his “Girl
in the Golden Atom”, and oth-
er “smallness” tales. If atoms
* '
were really sub-universes, and
if people could go there, sur-
vive, and return, then the “sur-
prise” (it was a surprise at the
time) ending of the Starzl story
is not only logical but neces-
sary. The hero and heroine are
supposed to go into the sub-
universe for half an hour; thir-
ty minutes later, the Professor
throws the switch on the dingus
to bring them back. But to his
horror, he finds a swarm of
people returning; of course —
the time-rate is so vastly dif-
ferent, that his daughter and
her boy-friend have lived out
their lives and died. It is their
descendants — quite a multitude
— who return to the relative
macrocosm of our own universe.
The lead novel is Stanton A.
C o b 1 e n t z’ “The Sunken
World”, an Atlantis story,
which is analyzed by L.
Sprague de Camp in his ar-
ticle, “The Lost Continents of
Fiction”. {Science Fiction
Quarterly, August 1954). As
Sprague says, “While not un-
readable, the story somehow
lacks vitality. The writing is
mediocre and the author seems
to know little of Navy life.
Moreover it suffers from the
fault of many Utopian novels,
in so exaggerating the faults of
modern W’estern civilization,
and so laboring the contrast
with an ideal society from
which all these evils have been
banished by the author’s fiat,
that the contest between them
is a mere setup and about as
interesting as most setups.” It
isn’t, note, the exaggeration of
present-day folly (a legitimate
device, which is the basis of
social satire) which is bad here,
but rather the flat and uncon-
vincing p>erfection of the
utopia.
l^ACIAL “superiority” and
the “white man’s burden”
was a very common theme in
the fiction of the Twenties, and
it should be remembered that
the two themes, while similar
in many ways, spring from
diametrically opposed founda-
tions. The story of racial “su-
periority” is rooted in the
proposition (whether stated or
not) that one was created su-
108
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
perior to all others, and shall
forever be so. The “white
man’s burden” story contends
that the “white man” has
achieved a position of suprem-
acy, but thjs position carries
with it the responsibility of
helping other peoples. The bur-
ied assumption here is that
“white supremacy” is some-
thing that God has permitted
but not expressly ordained —
and may be lost in time if
abused.
The two themes appear in
many permutations and dis-
guises, but can be distinguished
nonetheless by the underlying
attitudes in a given story. Are
members of the “non-white”
peoples assumed to be “inferi-
or” per se? If so, then we have
the “racial superiority” tale,
which may take any number of
tacks from “be kind to an-
imals” to apologies for geno-
cide.
In any of such tales, racial
conflict may be the plot; and
even in the most extreme “su-
periority” story, it may be ad-
mitted that the “inferior peo-
ples” are not entirely unjusti-
fied in hating the “whites”.
These themes have not ap-
peared very often in science
fiction (so far as the races of
mankind, here on Earth are
concerned), and “The Men-
ace”, a series of four stories
featuring the defective, Taine
of San Francisco, by David H.
Keller MD, was the first to
be rooted in this theme.
Despite the plot of conspir-
acy and the attempt of another
race to gain ascendancy over
the “whites”, “The Menace” is
a “white man’s burden” rather
than a “racial superiority”
story. (To repeat, it’s the dif-
ference between saying that
“the green men occupy an in-
ferior position in our society”
and “the green man is, by na-
ture, an inferior species of hu-
man being”.) I do not think,
however, that any science fic-
tion editor would accept a mod-
ern version of “The Menace”.
JT RAISES intellectual and
moral questions which have
been widely debated both in
and out of science fiction. In
science fiction, the intellectual
question is: If we are going to
try to visualize what the future
may bring, can we ignore the
fact that racial prejudices and
hatreds exist, and have a great
YESTERDAYLS WORLD OF TOMORROW 1928 IV
109
deal to do with the shaping of
events in the real world? The
moral question is the same for
all fiction: Can the subject be
treated honestly and realistical-
ly without feeding prejudice
and fanning hatred? And you
might add to that an artistic
question: Can the subject be
treated morally without pro-
ducing a sermon, rather than a
story?
For the most part, these is-
sues are evaded (you just don’t
see stories on the theme), or
the unpleasant and controver-
sial aspects ignored. It is equal-
ly true that, at all times in hu-
man history, there have been
men and women who treated
people of other races like hu-
man beings rather than mem-
bers of a sub-human species.
(This could mean, too, that
John Doe treated the green
men no better than his fellow
whites. He cheated all with
equal aplomb, never adding
slurs upon the color of the green
men’s epidermis to the injury.)
I think that, however free of
prejudice a story may be, a tale
with the plot of green men re-
volting against the whites,
planning to wipe out the
whites, or supplant them, or
whatever, will have the effect
of fostering hatred and preju-
dice. In the same way, crime
stories which stress violence,
clever evasion of the law, and
high living, have the effect of
glorifying crime even though
the gangsters are wiped out or
sentenced at the end. (Por-
nography does not become
“moral” if, after innumerable
lubricious chapters, the lead
character is shown dying mis-
erably of a disease.)
“Ten Days To Live”, by
C. J. Eustace, has a machine
which can move the Earth
closer to the sun. The fallacy
was covered by Dr. Macklin,
and we touched upon it our-
selves in reference to “Ten
Million Miles Sunward”. Even
though the power comes from
the disintegration of silver, the
story doesn’t convince. RAWL
Answers To The Quiz
l-d, 2-t, 3-1, 4-v, 5-x, 6-i, 7-p, 8-w, 9-u, 10-m, 11-q, 12-e,
13-j, l4-a, 15-f, l6-y, 17-n, 18-b, 19-h, 20-k, 2|-r, 22-c, 23-s, 24-o, 25-g.
A. Vignette
of
Possibility
The Last Paradox
J T’S TOO bad that G. K.
I Chesterton never wrote
a time-travel s t o r y,”
Professor Fordley lamented as
he made the final careful ad-
justments on his great glass-
domed machine. “He, for one,
would certainly have realized
the solution to the paradox in-
herent in all travel to the past
or future.”
John Comptoss, who in a
few moments would become
the first such traveler outside
the pages of fiction, braced the
straps of his specially-designed
pressure suit. “You mean there
is a solution? You don’t think
I’m going to end up in the year
2000 and be able to return with
all sorts of fascinating data?”
by Edward D. Hoch
Fordley shook his head sad-
ly. “Of course not, my boy. I
didn’t tell you before, because
I didn’t want to alarm you;
but when you step out of my
time machine you will not be
in the year 2000.”
“But . . . but that’s what it’s
set for, isn’t it?”
Fordley gestured at the
dials. “Certainly it’s set for
thirty-five years in the future,
but there is one slight fact that
all the writers about time travel
have overlooked till now.”
John Comptoss looked un-
happy. “What’s that. Profes-
sor? You think I’ll come out in
the middle of the Cobalt War
or something?”
“It’s not that. It’s rather . . .
no
well, why have these writers al-
ways assumed that travel to the
past or future was possible,
anyway? We know now that
we can — in this machine — in-
crease or decrease the age of an
animal, in much the same man-
ner that the age of a traveler
through space would change as
he approached the speed of
light.”
“Of course. Professor. We’ve
done it with rocks and plants,
and even mice. .
pORDLEY smiled. “In other
words, everything that goes
into the machine is affected.
But what no one ever realized
before that only the rfiaterial
in the time machine can grow
older or younger. When you
step out, you will be older, but
the world will be unchanged.”
“You mean the only way we
could advance to the year 2000
would be to build a time ma-
chine large enough for the en-
tire earth?” John Comptoss
asked incredulously.
“Exactly,” Fordley replied.
“And of course that is impossi-
ble. Therefore, time travel as
portrayed in fiction will never
come to pass.”
“So you’re going to stick me
inside this crazy machine and
make me older? Just that and
nothing more?”
“Isn’t that enough, John?
You’re twenty-eight years old
now — and in a moment you’ll
be thirty-five years older.
You’ll be sixty-three...”
“Can you bring me back all
right? Back to twenty-eight?”
Fordley chuckled’. “Of
course,' my boy. But you must
remember everything that hap-
pens to you. Everything.
There’s always a possibility my
movie cameras will miss some-
thing.”
The young man sighed.
“Let’s get it over with. The
whole thing’s sort of a let-
down now that I’m not going
to end up in 2000.”
“Step inside,” Fordley said
quietly, “and... good luck.”
“Thanks.” The heavy door
clanged shut behind him, and
immediately the condensing
water vapor began misting over
the glass dome.
pROFESSOR Fordley
stepped to his control dial
and checked the setting. Yes,
thirty-five years into the fu-
ture... Not the future of the
112
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
world, but only the future of
John Comptoss. . .
The big machine vibrated a
bit,' as if sighing at the over-
load of a human occupant. It
took nearly ten minutes before
the indicator came level with
the thirty-five year mark, and
then Fbtdley flipped the re-
verse switch.
While he waited for the time
traveler to return, he checked
the cameras and the dials and
the hundreds of auxiliary in-
struments that had been so nec-
essary to it all. Yes, they were
all functioning. He had done it;
he had done it with a human
being. ...
The green light above the
board flashed on, and he
stepped to the heavy steel door.
This was the moment, the mo-
ment of supreme triumph.
The door op>ened, slowly,
and the blurred figure of John
Comptoss stepped out through
the smoke.
“John! John, my boy!
You’re all right!”
“No, Professor,” the voice
from the steam answered him,
sounding somehow strange.
“You picked the wrong man
for your test. The wrong
man. . .”
“What’s hapi>ened to you,
John? Let me see your face!”
“Professor, I died at the age
of sixty... And there’s one
place from which even yoi.ir
machine couldn’t return me.
One place where there is no
time. . .”
And then the smoked cleared
a bit, and Professor Fordley
looked into his fare. . .
And screamed . . .
Thrilling Tales of The Day- After-Tomorrow
and the new September issue features
a novelet of Earth in peril
★ THE DESTROYERS ★
by Theodore L. Thomas
plus "The Avengers" by Thomas N. Scortia,
"The Outcasts” by G. H. Smith, and other stories
Look for the September issue of
Now
SCIENCE FICTION STORIES
sale
There just weren’t any grown-ups left at all . . .
BOY
by Richard Wilson
Don’t scoff at grammar-
conscious school teach-
ers. One of them may yet
save the Presidency of
the United States...
J ERRY, WHO was the old-
est, had always had a sense
of resj)onsibility. So after
the bombers droned away, he
naturally assumed leadership.
The kids had been down
deep, the grown-ups not so
deep. Jerry was scared; but
when the little kids started to
complain that they were hun-
gry, he made himself go up.
That was after more than a
week — when they’d eaten eve-
rything in the emergency kits,
and water was running low.
They’d sure made a mess,
those boTnbers, but they hadn’t
got the cache. That was even
deeper in the ground than the
children’s shelter, but not big
il3
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
1 14
enough to hold people. Jerry
started down, seeing to it that
each time his foot went as far
as possible into the step hewn
out of the rock. It was like
going down the inside of a tall
' chimney, and twice as scary.
The cache was okay and he
climbed up again with the
nylon rope. Then, while the
other kids were hauling up the
food kits, he put the radio to-
gether.
He put on the earphones and
listened. There was nothing,
not even on short wave. He
sent out calls, but nobody an-
swered; and after a week, he
gave up.
By that time, things had
been pretty well established.
He was surprised how well the
kids were taking it. He orga-
nized them and made them
work like slaves; they hated
him at first, until they came to
understand that they had to do
what he said, or there wouldn’t
be anybody left — not even
kids.
HERE W.\S shelter now
and plenty of food, and the
well water was pure; and final-
ly Jerry had time to sit down
with a calendar and his box of
pebbles — a pebble a day, just
before going to bed — and figure
out how long it had been since
the attack. He was surprised.
It had been nearly four months.
At first he had thought a
grown-up would be sure to
come along and take charge.
He looked forward to handing
over responsibility and hear-
ing someone tell him he’d done
a good job. But as the days
went by, and the number of
pebbles in the box increased,
he began to realize that it
might always be up to him.
When no grown-ups came,
he went looking for them,
whenever he could find the
time. But apparently there was
nobody else, not even other
kids; he’d have to keep on be-
ing boss.
After the kids fell into a
routine of living, Jerry had
time for daydreaming. He’d
sit in the shade of the big hut
where they all slept, and think
about the things he could be.
Like heavyweight champion of
the world, when he put a few
more pounds on his hard, mus-
cled body. Or grand champion
farmer, now that things were
beginning to grow again. Or
BOY
engineer on the 20th Century
Limited, if there was a loco-
motive and any track left.
It was while he was thinking
about these big glamorous jobs
that he realized what he had
to be, and no kidding. He had
to be President of the United
States.
COMEBODY had to be Presi-
dent, even if there wasn’t
anything left of the United
States except thirteen kids
whose orphan home had hap-
f>ened to have the best bomb
shelter in the whole world.
It would have to be him,
Jerry knew. The only other kid
who had sense enough was
Marie. But she was only
twelve, and a girl at that; he
was fourteen, and the others
were ten or younger.
There had been a few books
in the cache, along with the
food and tools and radio, like
a Bible and a dictionary and
a Shakespeare and an alma-
nac. He went to look up Con-
stitution in the almanac.
It was worse than he’d
thought. It wasn’t twenty-one
you had to be_,to be President,
but thirty-five, it said.
115
Or did it? He read Article
II, Section 1, Paragraph 4
again:
“No pers.on except a
natural born Citizen, or
a Citizen oj the United
States, at the time of
the Adoption of the
Constitution, shall be
eligible to the Office of
President; neither shall
any Person be eligible
to that Office who shall
not have attained to the
Age of thirty-five Years,
and been fourteen Years
a Resident within the
United States.”
Jerry read it again, word by
word, and began to see the
answer. There were three nega-
tives in Paragraph 4: a no, a
neither and a not.
The late Miss McGrath had
drummed it into him that two
negatives make a positive.
Therefore no and neither can-
celed out. That left one nega-
tive. The passage then read:
"... shall any Person
be eligible to that Office
who shall not have at-
116 FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
tained to the Age of
thirty-jive Years, and
been fourteen Years a
Resident within the
United States.”
Vj^ELL, SIR! Jerry had cer-
^ tainly not attained to the
Age of thirty-five Years, and
he was as eligible as pie! And,
at fourteen, he’d been a Resi-
dent just long enough.
He should have been a Con-
stitutional lawyer, that’s what.
He shut the almanac, put it
back on the shelf over his
bunk and went out to organize
the election.
It was a solemn moment, a
week later, as the inaugural
parade came to a halt in front
of the newly-built hut and
Jerry put his left hand on the
big Bible on the 'table.
Some of the kids had wanted
to make him King, and Marie
Queen, but Jerry had insisted
on a Constitutional election,
and now he stood before the
door over which somebody had
chalked White House. Marie
stood next to him. She’d been
elected Vice President.
Jerry raised his right hand.
“I do solemnly swear that I
will faithfully execute the
office of President of the
United States ...”
He felt proud and grown up
as he completed the oath. Eve-
rybody clapped and one or two
whistled. The President
frowned at the whistlers.
Marie, who’d consulted
Jerry’s calendar during the
past week, and announced that
she’d turned thirteen a month
ago without knowing it, took
the oath of Vice President.
She turned to him and said:
“Congratulations, Mr. Presi-
dent,” and put up her mouth
to be kissed. He kissed her
awkwardly and there were
cheers and whistles. The Presi-
dent didn’t frown this time, be-
cause he was blushing.
Later, in the privacy of the
White House, he was still
frowning. In his new maturity
he recognized that the thirteen
citizens of the United States,
like the thirteen colonies long
ago, would have to multiply.
And he had a feeling that his
country’s welfare would re-
quire before he ran for a sec-
ond term that he ask the Vice
President to resign and become
his First Lady.
SCIENCE
FICTION
ALMANAC
The dates listed are those that appeared on the
magazines, rather than the dates when they ap-
peared on the newsstands.
SEPTISMBER
1931: (marginal) Strange Tales, Vol. 1, No. 1; pulp size; bi-
monthly; Harry Bates, editor.
1932: Astounding Stories becomes bi-monthly, (Clayton)
1939: Famous Fantastic Mysteries, Vol. 1, No. 1; pulp size; bi-
monthly; Mary Gnaedinger, editor.
1941: Final issue of Science Fiction, Vol, 2, No. 6. (Title com-
bined with Future Fiction the following month.)
1953: Final issue of Space Science Fiction, Vol. 2, No. 3.
Final issue of Rocket Stories, Vol. 1, No, 3.
1954: (marginal) Final issue of Weird Tales, Vol. 46, No. 4.
117
118
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
OCTOBER
1930: (marginal) Final issue of Amazing Detective Tales, Vol.
1, No. 10.
1933: Astounding Stories, revived as monthly by Street &
Smith; pulp size; Orlin Tremaine, editor. •
Amazing Stories now pulp size.
1935: Amazing Stories now bi-monthly.
1938: Amazing Stories monthly again.
1943: (marginal) Final issue of Unknown, Vol. 7, No. 3.
1949: (marginal) Magazine of Fantasy, Vol. 1, No. 1; digest
size; quarterly; Anthony Boucher & J. F. McComas, edi-
tors.
1950: Galaxy Science Fiction, Vol. 1, No. 1; bi-monthly; digest
size ; Horace Gold, editor.
(marginal) Imagination, Vol. 1, No. 1; bi-monthly; di-
gest size; W. L. Hamling, editor.
1952: Space Stories, Vol. 1, No. 1; pulp size; bi-monthly; Sam-
uel Mines, editor.
1953: Final issue of Tops in Science Fiction, No. 2.
Final issue of Two Complete Science- Adventure Books,
No. 10.
1954: Final issue of Thrilling Wonder Stories, Vol. 44, No. 2.
1955: Final issue of Startling Stories, Vol. 33, No. 3.
1956: Satellite Science Fiction, Vol. 1, No. 1; bi-monthly; di-
gest size ; Sam Merwin, editor.
Erraiuiti
Under the heading of “June”:
1953 : Future Science Fiction now digest size.
The correct listing is:
1954: Future Science Fiction now digest size.
I
After 1939, changes in frequency of publication become so fre-
quent, due to war conditions, that it is not feasible to attempt
to list them all. However, additions and corrections from read-
ers will be welcomed.
DOWN TO
EARTH
T his department is for you, our readers, and is a vehicle for
airing your opinions. We shall publish ais many letters in each
issue as space allows, and it makes no difference whether they
are complimentary, or whether the editor is lambasted for what you
think was an error of judgement in selecting stories. If you want to ar-
gue with an author, or with other letter-writers, here is an open forum
for you.
While the editor may comment upon a given opinion, and may express
one or two of his own at times, this is your department, and you, have
the last word. And whether your letter is published or not, rest assured
that your opinions are read carefully and taken into consideration. All
suggestions for improvement are welcome, ajnd we will follow them
wherever feasible.
WHY DO WE READ
SCIENCE^ FICTION?
Dear Bpb:
Okay, here it is, typ>ewritten,
doublespaced, and on one side
of the paper, as requested.
The quest for a definition of
science-fiction is not only, fas-
cinating, it’s frustrating! No
matter what the definition,
there will be science-fiction sto-
ries that don’t fit it. And there
will probably be non-science-
fiction stories that do. You j’ust
can’t win. Science-fiction can
be described, but not defined.
If I remember correctly.
tl9
120
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
there was a similar argument
kicking (or being kicked)
around a few years back. We
were all quite concerned then
with why we read science-fic-
tion.
Nobody knew.
Oh, there were theories, and
the plaintive cry, “Because I
like it.” But as far as I can
remember, no one ever said, “I
like it because ...” and then
continued with a satisfactory
reason or explanation. After a
while, no one even tried.
Maybe someone should try.
I think I know why I read
science-fiction. Or, at least,
why I read it in preference to
most other types of fiction.
Take almost any story in al-
most any general magazine.
What’s in it? Ordinary people
doing ordinary things in or-
dinary ways, with just enough
difference to make the average
reader think he’s being enter-
tained. That’s just fine for the
average person who’s been
force-fed a diet of conformism
from infancy on.
But I’m a nonconformist. I
like to think for myself and do
things for myself and discover
things for myself. I hate to do
something everyone else is do-
ing just because everyone else
is doing it. And I hate to read
about people who do the con-
ventional, expected things just
because they’re conventional
and expected. (My dictionary
defines “conventional” as
“Lacking spontaneity, original-
ity, or individuality,’’ and
gives as synonyms “accepted,
customary, traditional, trite,
stereotyped.”)
Now, some pretty harsh
things have been said about sci-
ence-fiction, but I’ve never
heard it called conventional.
That’s why I like it. It doesn’t
deal with ordinary people do-
ing ordinary things.
By now, someone is probably
nodding wisely and muttering,
“Escapism.” Nuts. If that’s es-
capism, then so is watching a
sunset, listening to music, eat-
ing a new food, or doing any-
thing pleasant.
Enough said?
Perhaps the rest of Future’s
readers can comment on this
and decide why they read sci-
ence-fiction. A little discussion
of the subject might even lead
us to that elusive definition. At
the very least, we may come up
DOWN TO EARTH
121
with a better description!
May I take a moment now
to sympathize with Isaac Asi-
mov? (I did spell that right,
didn’t I?) I know just how he
feels. My name lends itself to
misspelling, and I really think
I suffer more than he does. The
alteration of one little letter in
my name changes it from
feminine to masculine. As you
can understand, this leads to
embarrassment as well as an-
noyance. People keep asking
me how I liked Denmark!
MARIAN C. OAKS,
8219 Belair Road,
Lot 89, Road E,
Baltimore 6, Maryland
Hmm, that reminds me of
the conductor’s remark when
he accidently punched the
gentleman’s commuta-
tion ticket in the “female”
square, “Look at the money I
saved you.”
NATURAL-LY
Dear Mr. Lowndes;
I have been following the
discussion in your magazine of
a definition for science fiction
and fantasy fiction with some
interest.
Formulating definitions is a
pretty tricky business; in one
way, it is about all there is to
language and logic. In a case
like this, however, there is
pretty general agreement as to .
the extensional existence of the
class, and probably reasonably
general non-verbal understand-
ing of what it comprises — in
other words, people can point
to a specific story and say:
‘'This is science fiction;” or
“This is not science fiction”.
I think we can get along pretty
well with the classical method,
“per genus et differentiam”.
What this means is that we
first place the collection we
wish to define in a definite
Has Your Opinion Been Represented?,
Perhaps you disagree with the cons^sus on June issue. Well,
that vote has been registered — but it’s not too late to make your
opinion count on this October issue! Send your coupon, postal card,
or letter in today!
122
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
class and then pick out the dif-
ferences which separate it from
other members of the class.
In this case, the class is ob-
viously fiction; but we want to
specify what kind of fiction.
1. Fantasy fiction depyends
for its major development on
the assumed existence of phe-
nomena not subject to natural
laws.
2. Science fiction depends
for its major development on
the assumed existence of phe-
nomena subject to natural
laws; but which is assumed can
not have actually occurred.
The final qualifier is explicit
in the definition of science fic-
tion, but not in fantasy fiction;
because in our culture sup>er-
natural phenomena automati-
cally put a story in the fantasy
class, regardless of whether the
author or any of his readers be-
lieve in them or not. On the
other hand, in science fiction
the author’s attitude is impor-
tant. Wells’ “Land Ironclads”
is science fiction, because at
the time he wrote the story,
tanks did not exist, to ^lis
knowledge. Wylie’s *'Opus 21”
is not science fiction — although
it is concerned with nuclear and
psychological science which
seems rather peculiar to some
of us — because Wylie firmly
believed his ideas were valid
and factual at the time he
wrote. His “Disappearance” is
either fantasy or science fiction
— the doubt being due to some
obscurity as to whether he in-
tends his phenomena to be sub-
ject to natural laws or super-
natural — because he doesn’t be-
lieve such a disappearance ac-
tually occurred.
Now, as to the difference be-
tween natural and supernatural
phenomena:
Science, basically, is the art
of prediction, of finding func-
tional relationships between
events. Its prime tenet is that
such relationships do exist and
can be found, that all events
are subject to natural law.
Magic and fantasy, in our
current understanding — in old-
en days, magic was an empirical
search for natural law — are ar-
bitrary and based on the belief,
that certain events are intrin-
sically beyond our ability to
order or understand. They are
super -naXxLXdil, outside natural
law entirely.
DOWN TO EARTH
123
There has been quite a spate
of stories lately in which tra-
ditionally fantastic characters
— witches, werewolves, ghouls,
vampires, etc. — are used, but
assumed to be subject to nat-
ural law — their witchery is ex-
plained “scientifically”. These
stories are science fiction, to
my mind, and apparently are
accepted as such without ques-
tion by most readers.
In the old “Unknown” , how-
ever, and in F&SF nowadays,
there is a pretty prevalent type
of story in which all characters
are extremely matter-of-fact
and everyday; but where the
plot hinges on occurrences that
are assumed to be not subject
to natural law — they violate
all our current scientific
knowledge, and no effort is
made to explain them “scien-
tifically,” These stories *are
fantasy, and nobody questions
it.
So, to my mind, that is the
difference between science fic-
tion and fantasy fiction. If the
author has made an attempt to
indicate that his story is based
on phenomena which can be ex-
plained as subject fo natural
law — regardless of whether he
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124
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
has attempted an explicit ex-
planation — and regardless of
how fantastic his explanation
may sound — it is science fic-
tion. Whether it is good science
fiction, of course, is a horse of
an entirely different color,
RALPH W. SLONE,
Box 93-A,
Homer, Alaska
WASTED EFFORT
Dear Bob:
Hate to mutilate a magazine
by clipping coupons, so I’ll do
my voting by letter. Let’s tie
the two articles for first place;
give the Mathieu story second
place; then tie the Wilson and
Gordon stories for third. The
rest, I’m afraid, were “pretty
much of a muchness,” as my
grandmother says. Not really
poor enough to get an X, but
not quite good enough to rate
a vote.
Damon Knight’s article was
of particular interest to me. He
says, “ . . . the science fiction
spine of a story generally takes
the form of an argument. If
such and such happened, then
this would come about; and
then this; and you wind up
over here,” In the next para-
graph, he says, “That’s essen-
tial. If you do not have it, or
if it’s poorly done, then the
story may be good in other re-
spects, but it isn’t good science
fiction.”
What about the other side of
this statement? How often does
a writer take an idea (or gim-
mick, if you prefer) and swathe
it in a few thousand not very
well-chosen words, with no
thought of plot, characters, or
action of any kind. The result
may, by quite a stretch of the
imagination, be called science
fiction. It certainly isn’t a
story. I suspect that this is
what Mr. Knight means when
he mentions “little-magazine
stories masquerading as science
fiction.”
The author, in effect, tells us
that condifions are thus-and-
so. He doesn’t bother to tell us
what happens — or even how it
happens — under those condi-
tions. As a result, he accom-
plishes nothing, eimept to set
forth an idea or theory that
might have been turned into
a good story. And certainly
good ideas are not so plentiful
that we can afford to waste
them.
[Turn To Page 126]
Tops
in Science
Fiction!
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126
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
Reminds me of my kid sis-
ter’s carrot patch. Every day,
she pulled one to see how big
they were getting. By the time
they’d have been big enough
to eat, she didn’t have any
left. . .
Later in the article, Mr.
Knight says, “The ideal is a
story in which the s(^ence is
treated with the same loving
skill as the human relations. It
takes a certain wideness of vi-
sion to bring them both togeth-
er, and that’s probably what
makes it so rare: most of us
find we have to concentrate on
one thing or the other.”
Possibly he’s right, but judg-
ing from a good piany stories
I’ve read recently, too many
of us don’t bother to concen-
trate on either!
And that is probably why
science fiction is still largely
considered drivel for morons.
MARI.\N C. OAKS,
8219 Belair Road,
Lot 89, Road E,
Baltimore 6, Maryland
SPECIAL CASE
.Dear RAWL:
I sympathize with the late
Mr. Olsen’s distaste at the no-
tion of defining science fiction
as a special case within the
larger area of fantasy — but
this definition isn’t as self-con-
tradictory as it may seem.
“Fantasy” is defined in the
American College Dictionary
as (1) “imagination, esp. when
unrestrained (2) the forming
of grotesque mental images
(3) a mental image, esp. when
grotesque. Then follow sp>ecial
pschological and musical defi-
nitions. The Britannica World-
Language Dictionary gives “a
fantastic notion or mental im-
age; fancy” as its first defini-
tion. Fowler’s Modern English
Usage, tells us that the pre-
dominant sense of “fantasy” is
“caprice, whim, fanciful inven-
tion” (while, with “phantasy”,
we have “imagination, vision-
ary notion”). All three, you
will note stress “imagination”
as the base and say nothing
about “natural” or “supernat-
ural” foundations.
So rather than try to say
that science fiction isn’t fan-
tasy, it seems to me that it
would be more sensible to let
that argument go, but pin down
the special elements found in
science fiction that you will not
DOWN TO EARTH
127
find In other types of fantastic
fiction.
And we have to remember
that science-fictionists are like-
ly to insist upon a particular
definition of “science” which
• the dictionaries do not restrict
themselves to. A “science” is
generally defined as a “sys-
tematic body of knowledge”;
it is just in the last century or
so that the so-called “scientific
method” has come into vogue,
and many “systematic bodies of
knowledge” denied the label of
“science”, because they did not
conform.
So I think we have to insist
that the basis of the science in
what we want to call “science
fiction” must ftot only be root-
ed in natural laws (as opposed
to supernatural laws), but that
we should specify that the sub-
ject matter has to be at least
hypothetically subject to what
we understand as the “scien-
tific method”. This refers to
events, phenomena, and discov-
eries in . the stories, and the
author’s treatment of them —
whether they are explained or
not, the treatment should give
the impression that they are
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128 FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
subject to eventual explanation
by some science or sciences, op-
erating under the scientific
method. (This sets the stand-
ards for what type of evi-
dence is and is not acceptable,
what constitutes valid tests,
demonstrations, etc.)
What about sup>ernatural
laws and the supernatural?
This would refer to (a) stories
about events, phenomena, dis-
coveries, etc., which cannot be
explained, demonstrated, etc.,
within the framework of the
scientific m e t h o d — and yet
which, nonetheless, appear to
follow some sort of order and
have some sort of inter-connec-
tion, suggesting the possibility
of some sort of “manipulation
to' (seeming) advantage”; (b)
stories where this factor is com-
pletely or nearly ignored (c)
stories dealing with unresolved
impossibilities, yet containing
aspects of (a).
Examples of the (a) type of
story would be tales about
psionic machines, psi power,
etc.
Most ghost stories fall into
the (b) category. The ghosts
are taken for granted by both
author and reader, despite the
incredulity of characters in the
tale.
Bram Stoker’s “Dractda" is
an excellent example of (c).
The actual, phenomenon of the
undead is not satisfactorily ex-
plained; the vampire remains
a medical impossibility, as de-
scribed. However, the specific
powers, and limitations of pow-
ers, of these unGodly creatures
are gone into very thoroughly;
and the characters finally de-
stroy the evil creatures by un-
derstanding and manipulating
the vampires’ limitations to the
advantage of the living.
It follows then that type (a)
fantasies can and do go well in
science fiction magazines, even
though they * are marginal
cases; while the type (b) and
(c) fantasy doesn’t belong at
all. And there is always the
possibility that “tomorrow” a
given type (a) fantasy will turn
out to have been true science
fiction after all.
It should be remembered
that a good many* rejected
“sciences” are nonetheless
“systematic bodies of knowl-
edge”; and that in magic and
witchcraft, for example, one is
not supposed to get the results
DOWN TO EARTH
129
sought by a mere wave of the
wand, or a hypnotic gesture.
The formulas are explicit, and
are supposed to bring specific
results without any more var-
iation than one finds in fol-
lowing a certified chemical for-
mula. (You can follow the for-
mula, in chemistry, and still
not get what you expected be-
cause the ingredients were not
what you thought they were, or
because of disturbing factors of
which you were unaware. If a
certain degree of heat is re-
quired, for example, this heat
to be supplied by boiling wa-
ter, you rhay add the boiling
water exactly as specified — but
be frustrated by the fact that
air pressure made the water
boil at a lower temperature
than was required.)
Finally, I’d like to suggest
that while the scientific method
has carried us a long way in
our quest to understand and
manipulate natural laws to
(seeming) advantage it is not
itself a natural law. Eventual-
ly, we may find modifications
and amendments both neces-
sary and desirable. Further-
more, to define a phenomenon
as “supernatural” is not to
prove thereby that it does not,
or cannot, exist, or is thereby
[Turn Page]
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Did you like the cover? ■ '■ ■ ■
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(You'll find space for story ratings on other side)
130
FUTURE SCIENCE FICTION
both unknown and unknow-
able.
MURRAY KING,
Greenwich, Conn.
Perhaps a better definition
for “supernatural” would be
“outside of, or superseding,
what is currently known to be
natural law; unknowable by
present-day application of the
scientific method”. It reminds
me of the famous (and misun-
derstood) question of how
many angels can dance on the
point of a needle. With the
present-day conception of the
field, that “point of the nee-
dle” takes on an entirely dif-
ferent meaning. (We will by-
pass the existence of angels,
which cannot be demonstrated
by the scientific method, and
whether angels dance, in any
event.)
The question is “misunder-
stood” in that many people
believe that there really was
such a debate during the mid-
dle ages. There wasn’t, but
there was a lot of time and
ingenious rhetoric wasted on
equally pointless matters.
And various sensible scholars,
irritated at seeing serious at-
tention given to pointless
trivia, said that one might as
well have a debate on how
many angels could dance on
the point of a needle. RAWL
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If you think a story outstanding (better than just 1st place),
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